Reprise
by fayoa
Summary: Reprise: 1. Music: a. A repetition of a phrase or verse. b. A return to an original theme. 2. A recurrance or resumption of an action.
1. The Production

"How long until you think they realize?" A petite blond sat in a dusty backstage area of a famed, yet somehow long-forgotten theater in Paris, France.

Her companion, a taller, brunette girl, scoffed. "They already have. They're not that stupid." She was leaning against an old backdrop that probably hadn't been used in several decades. Their wardrobes consisted mainly of comfortable sweats, and they both had a tired, over-strained-over-worked-college-student look about them.

After a moment, the first girl spoke again. "I have a cramp."

"Where?" The other asked.

"Several places, actually. I don't suppose we can go? Somewhere else?"

She shook her head. "No, silly. They'll find us and we'll be flayed alive." Her otherwise flawless French was tainted by a slight English accent.

"By who?" The first asked. "You're bigger than the average crew member. Even if you're a pacifist."

"There's nothing wrong with being a pacifist. You'd all die if it weren't for level-headed people like me."

"Sure." The first shook her head and sighed, playing with her fine, loose hair. She looked at her friend slyly. "You know, it's not entirely safe back here."

The second raised an eyebrow and giggled. "Oh, you're not in danger. He's tired of blonds, I'm sure."

"Yeah, well you're not even French." The other sniffed. "Nor are you a soprano. He only likes sopranos."

"You're not French, either! You're a bloody American!"

"How dare you? Americans are lovers, not fighters, and dem's fightin' words!" She said a little ironically. Both foreign girls had been in France most of their lives and had little loyalty to their previous residences.

Her friend snorted. "Yes, well... You can go shove your soprano voice up your rear and accept that you'll never have any phantom, fictional or no."

The ambitious, non-pacifist of the two opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a woman who towered over even the Brit.

"You rogues! You fiends! You rehearsal-ruining toads!" She wailed in an over-dramatic voice. She was several years older than the two hideaways, and was a formidable sight with her eyes blazing in almost amusing anger. "I know it's a little early to have to do this, but you didn't have to stuff the bassoon with cheese!"

The first of the two smiled innocently at the furious woman. "How do you know it wasn't the phantom?"

The eccentric woman with frizzy, wild hair cackled. "Oh, the phantom doesn't use cheese, darling. He kidnaps sopranos. And your next, my pretty! He'll get you, and your little dog, too!" It was a wide belief among those involved with this particular theater that this woman, talented as she was, was a little, if not very much so, crazy.

The second stiffened, insulted by the way Jess gestured toward her at the word 'dog'.

The first hugged her companion tightly. "Oh, we wouldn't mind being kidnapped by a mysterious genius, would we, Boston?"

Boston considered this, then smiled wryly. "I, personally, wouldn't mind spending my entire life eating, sleeping, singing, and being worshipped, would you?"

"Ah, that's all I do, anyway." The newcomer said lazily. "Now come back, lest I punish you on Erik's behalf!"

"Which Erik? Erik or Eric?" Boston's accomplice mused. The second Eric she mentioned was the one she was paired with in the theater's current production of Andrew Lloyd Webber's The Phantom of the Opera. They weren't on the best of terms.

"Why would Eric want you punished?" The tall woman asked.

"Why would Erik want us punished?" Boston interrupted. "He was quite the mischievous fellow, was he not?"

"That's not word I would use." She said darkly.

The first girl stood up. "I suppose you came to drag us back?"

"Yes, Rio my dearest." The actress took the girls' hands and turned them around, gently but forcefully steered towards the stage area.

Rio struggled only a little. "Ah well. Punishment was inevitable, wasn't it?"

Her captor nodded. "You have been being a little immature, dears. You're what, twenty-something?"

"Nineteen." Rio corrected her. "You have a horrible memory, Jess. Boston's the twenty-three-year-old."

"No one cares about my horrible memory." Jess assured her. "Just as long as I keep singing for their La Carlotta."

The captor and captives emerged on the stage, momentarily blinded by the lights shining from the restored chandelier at the ceiling.

Boston stared at it. It was lovely, but she knew its history as well as any other frequent of the Opera Populaire. She could see, in her mind, angry images of it shattering, causing the fire that had scarred and nearly destroyed much of the original Opera.

Interrupting her reveries came the voice of the genius that ran the theater, a petite but strong woman by the name of Brianne. She had directed and produced production after production for the theaters almost since its restoration a few decades before. She also often played roles; this time she was portraying Madame Giry.

"Ah... There are my little cheese-rats." Madame Brianne said rather menacingly. The statement would have been funny if her expression wasn't so frightening.

"I love you, mommy." Boston beamed at the director, trying her best to look like her much more charming character, Meg Giry, instead of the foster actress of a brilliant director.

"Ha! Hahahaha! HA!" Jess cackled as she passed by, enjoying the fact that she herself wasn't yet in trouble that day.

The director glared ferociously at the slightly tipsy soprano, then turned to her star soprano and her star alto. "Look, kids, I know the schedule's a little hectic this time, but this is just the first rehearsal! No reason to break out the cheese this early!"

"Hey, I have an idea!" A tall, dark-haired, handsome fellow swaggered up with a crooked smile. He was a good friend of the young actresses, and had known Jess since the two had gone to secondary school together years ago. His name was Aaron, and he was Brianne's talented tenor, the Phantom himself. "Actually, two. One, we could feed these two to the real phantom. Or, we could have the orchestra practice somewhere else or not at the same time. Smart, no?"

"I say both." Boston murmured, looking at the commotion in the pit, mostly concentrated around the bassoon player. "Remove the mischief-makers _and_ their temptation. Sneaky."

"No, you know what?" Brianne put a hand on her forehead and heaved an exasperated sigh. "You two will get off alright this time, and I'll talk to the maestro and see if we can do something about the scheduling problems. For now, I want you to join the rest of the nice, well-behaved cast in those seats where you belong."

She pointed towards the front section of the auditorium, where the entire, newly-incarnated cast of the Phantom of the Opera sat. They, in their weekend clothing, some holding CD players or chatting on cell phones, looked very out of place the 19th century-esque theater.

The two singers followed 'the phantom' around to end of the stage and down the stairs. Rio avoided the stares of the bassoon player as she clung to her friend's arm.

"That guy's out to get me." She hissed. Boston just chuckled and patted her hand.

"You're just paranoid. I'm sure he'll find it in his heart to forgive you."

"I dunno. Those musician people are pretty crazy about their instruments."

"So tell me." The 'Phantom' appeared in a strangely phantom-like way, popping up between the two effortlessly. Boston put it off to years of acting. "Did you two run away to escape the wrath of Madame Brio or for some other, more mysterious reason?"

'Madame Brio' was the nickname Brianne had earned from her various casts over the years. Few knew the origin of the odd name, although most believed it was a reflection of her stereotypically male way of taking charge of quite nearly everything.

"Whatever you're suggesting, Monsieur _Airo_, you're most likely wrong." Rio sniffed haughtily and slid into the aisle where Jess had settled herself earlier.

"Since you're not really the genius you play by a long shot." Boston added, ignoring Rio's odd twist on Brianne's nickname.

Aaron, however, couldn't. After a moment he snorted, "Airo?"

The three burst into hysterics. Despite their age differences the four actors, Boston, Rio, Jess, and Aaron had hit it off almost as soon as they met. Jess and Aaron had both been in the first production the modern Opera Populaire had put on about twenty years ago, whereas Boston and Rio had only joined the company a few years ago. Regardless, their common love of theater had joined them as fast friends from the beginning.

"Well, kids." The director said, addressing them in the way she always did to those she felt inferior to herself. She stood on the stage, arms crossed, facing her 'Phantom' cast. "'The cheese incident' is past. We can now move on with our lives."

Various exaggerated gasps came from the crowd, and several twisted around to see Rio staring at Brianne with a fake smile fixed on her face.

"Now, I hope you've all got a copy of the schedule... although it may not be final..." She continued, ignoring whatever sarcasm her audience indulged in. "And right now most of you know what you should be doing. I know there are a lot of you who didn't find it in your lazy hearts to sign up to help build the sets, although I'm not naming names." With that she glared specifically at several people, including Aaron.

"Some of us do have families..." He muttered. Attractive as he was with his dark eyes and hair, he was, sadly, married and the father of two. Jess had once lamented this enthusiastically, but was over it eventually.

The queen bee moved on. "So I've decided to keep you here anyway as a punishment. Either you help the others with the sets, or you help myself and Angie," Boston glanced at the chorus girl who had volunteered to head the 'costume effort', as it had been dubbed, "find the material that is still missing from the back room."

Angie and Rio weren't currently talking. Angie sincerely believed that Rio had hidden the material out of spite. Both Boston and Rio knew it wasn't Rio, but Angie refused to back down. Angie was one of those girls who believed herself better than all the others, though she hadn't landed any major part in a production for some time. This served to cause a rift between the girls and Angie and her small posse.

Well, Rio's record _is_ against her, Boston thought. Rude as those girls are, she has been known to do such things.

Aaron and Jess, however, as well as several of the other cast members, had awarded the blame to the 'Opera Ghost'. As lovely as the thought was, Boston highly doubted it. Even if this man Erik had once existed he would have only been a man and would be long dead over one hundred years after the famed disasters he caused. Besides, didn't Gaston Leroux insist that Erik's body had been found beneath the Opera?

"I wish it really was the phantom." Rio murmured to her friend. "That would add a little bit of color to this boring little production, don't you think?"

"A little color?" Boston chuckled. "Maybe. But I don't think we'd enjoy that kind of color, Rio."

"Why?" The girl nudged her friend playfully. "Don't be such a spoilsport. It's just a myth, anyway. Might as well indulge."

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Might as well."


	2. 1st Interlude

"So tell me…" I leaned back against the unwelcoming cold stones. "Did that whole incident freak you out as much as it did me?"

"Freak me out?" He sounded both curious and amused by the phrase. "Does that mean you want to tell you how I felt about it?"

"Learning quick, aren't we?" I giggled a little. "Sorry, I do try you know. Yes, that's what I want to know."

You'd think talking to a bodiless voice would frighten most people, or at least make them uncomfortable. But for me, it was, by then, perfectly normal. I knew it wasn't a 'bodiless' voice, as I'd seen the owner of it a total of three times. Just never a real look: mostly his shadow or shape.

My companion mulled this over for a moment. "It disturbed me. It also makes me wonder. Perhaps your friends aren't as naïve as we, or I, might wish."

"No, but they're very good actors, aren't they?" I smiled fondly. 'My friends' were, in fact, actors, so it was often hard to tell what was real and what wasn't.

"Some of them. Others… not as much."

I smiled again, this time almost laughing. I felt a bit like a proud preschool teacher having taught one of my students to add two numbers properly. Sure, it was cynical and a little underdeveloped, but he was, in fact, showing signs of a sense of humor. When I had first met him, he'd been in a perpetual state of depression. I used to chat for hours, knowing he was there and listening quietly. I don't believe he, at the time, really understood or cared about what I was saying. He was just listening to one of the first human voices speaking to him in a long, long time. I think that really moved him.

But that was several months ago. Now, I was teaching him about my own life, relating to him the story of how I'd come to find him. He listened politely and commented on it, occasionally showing signs of going back to the more human state of emotion I knew had once existed in him.

I should not have been happy at the time, however. Certain incidents and strange behaviors from my fellow actors and lovers of the stage had 'disturbed' both of us. I'd just finished retelling them to him, and he was turning it over in his mind.

He was a genius: this I knew. I'd begun to come to him for things such as these, because I think he enjoyed picking apart situations and reacquainting himself with a human way of life. I told him of mostly petty little problems: social or romantic problems of my friends, problems with stage and set Brianne would talk of, and, once, had even come to him for help with an essay for school. I believe he had found this incredibly amusing, because although he didn't laugh or show it in any way (I don't think he _could_ laugh, really) his voice was so expressive it was easy to decipher his emotions.

This problem was more than that, though. This could endanger him, me, and our secret meetings in the chapel or Daae's old dressing room.

He spoke again, but I wasn't listening. _Oh, his voice_. Time had not changed it: it was still very entrancing and lovely even when he wasn't singing the words.

"Are you listening, mademoiselle?" He sounded amused again, and, strangely, the voice seemed to come from my left shoulder.

I looked, warily, to my left. But, of course, he wasn't there.

"No," I grinned sheepishly at the invisible man. "But I will now."

"That would be kind of you." His voice dripped with new-found sarcasm. I shuddered a little, getting an image of the shadow of the man he was once.

It resonated through me, making me rather acutely aware of how cold it was so high up. I stared at the burning candles I had lit upon my arrival: I couldn't stand how nearly dark it was up there.

"Are you well?" His voice then said. "No, of course you aren't. I've kept you here into the night. Go home, mademoiselle. I will tell you what I think tomorrow."

I stood and stretched, realizing I had been there for some time. After wrapping my coat around me tightly I blew out the candles and headed for the door. I paused, knowing he was watching me leave.

"Goodnight." He said, softly.

I closed my eyes and fought back waves of emotion. "Goodnight, Erik."


	3. The Chapel

"I don't understand why Aaron can't practice with us." Rio complained. She was wearing a white veil, as a way to remind her fellow actresses of who she was supposed to be. "I can't just keep kissing air!"

Boston rolled her eyes and mumbled something acidic under her breath. Her own prop was the leather mask designed for Aaron's face. Unfortunately, his face was much bigger than hers, so it was incredibly uncomfortable and was making her rather irritable.

"I heard that!"

"No you didn't."

"You're right, I didn't. But I will next time!"

"Shut up!" Their companion, Jess, almost screamed, then rapidly switched into character. "_Free her! Do what you like, only free her!_" She sang, sounding more like a transsexual Carlotta than an actual Raoul.

"_Your lover makes a passionate plea_!" Boston hissed obediently, wondering momentarily why they were practicing one of Rio's scenes as opposed to one with Meg or La Carlotta in it. Or maybe Meg and Christine, or Christine and La Carlotta.

She shook her head and focused back on the situation at hand.

"_Please, Raoul, it's useless..._" Rio said, once again surprising her friends with her ability to act so easily. Her face went from displaying petty anger to pleading sorrow.

"_I love her! Does that mean nothing? I love her! Show some compassion_!" Jess sang. Boston almost laughed at her difficulty with Raoul's tenor part.

"_The world showed no compassion to me_!" Boston snarled enthusiastically, getting into the part of her friends' fictional obsession.

"_Christine, Christine... Let me see her_!" Jess continued, a little too cheerfully.

"_Be my guest, sir..._" The tall alto grinned and mimed turning a crank.

"Hello?" It was the other, less impressive Eric (with a C). He was the 'Raoul' to be used in the production. He was tall, blond, and rather disgustingly dashing. His voice was suitable for Raoul: strong, deep enough, but not quite like the phantom's. His lack of brains, however, balanced off his good voice and looks.

"Eric!" Rio whined, crossing her arms and pouting. "We were actually getting into it!"

"Is Jess really a good tenor?" He went on, ignoring his costar.

"For your information, yes." Jess sniffed. "I'm as good a tenor as you are, monsieur."

"I find that hard to believe..."

Boston shook her head. Eric was the epitome of a spoiled actor. It was all the three actresses could do to endure his presence on stage, let alone during rehearsals almost every day.

"You know what?" She said, standing up. "I think I'll go find Brianne and see if she has anything else for us to do."

Her companions grinned thankfully, but Eric touched Rio's shoulder.

"Can I borrow you?" He asked, giving a smile that would have been charming if not for the lack of thought in his eyes.

"Oh, sure." Boston shrugged, holding back a malicious cackle too obviously. "She's a little too small to do any heavy lifting. God knows Brio enjoys heaping that on us."

Rio gave her a death glare as she went with Eric to practice what ever scene he'd come up with. Chances were, Eric was doing his best to 'woo' Rio. Unfortunately for him, Rio was the type of person who went for someone less arrogant and… well, Raoul-like.

"Oh, that was good..." Jess rubbed her heads together, chuckling a little like a mad scientist.

"Yes, I know... I'm wonderful..." Boston paused and glanced down one of the long-unused hallways of the opera house. This one, she knew, led to the dusty, grimy, dormitories. The things hadn't been used in God knew how long, and those particular hallways were rarely used but for storage. The Opera Populaire wasn't quite the splendid thing it once was: the productions were smaller and less often now. It didn't house its actors and actresses and didn't have a ballet anymore.

Jess sighed. "I wish you'd stop going down there. You're going to get lost, you know. And there really is a lake. You're going to fall in it and die."

"Because I can't swim?" Boston raised an eyebrow. She had not explored very far as yet. She always found herself remembering something else she had to do once past the main hallway.

"Wouldn't put it past you." La Carlotta muttered. Boston slapped the taller woman and, more out of spite than actual curiosity, turned down the corridor to the long-used portions of the place.

"That's it." Jess followed her, throwing up her arms. "I suppose I'll just die with you."

Boston smiled to herself and made a right, vowing to remember every turn they made just to make sure they didn't actually get lost. _Maybe I should've brought some breadcrumbs_. She thought, a little amused by the image of Jess trailing bread crumbs behind her and singing gaily.

The thought of getting lost in a haunted old opera house was more exciting then frightening, anyway.

The silence lasted only about three paces.

"It's over now, the music of the niiiiiiiiiiight!" Jess wailed in a weirdly soprano version of Erik's voice.

"Jess, I know you can't stand silence, but it's very ironic how you're singing that, and it's kind of freaking me out." Boston mumbled as she poked her head around another corner, jumping at the sight of a cobweb in front of her.

"How is it ironic?" Jess reached out and pulled it down with a piece of a set lying nearby.

"Well, it is over now. The music of the night, I mean." Boston shivered and rubbed her arms a little frantically, suddenly cold. "It's been over for a hundred years or so, no? Plus it makes me sad to think of the poor phantom all alone there at the end."

Boston, at the urging of Rio, was a well-read 'Phantom of the Opera' fan. She sincerely believed that Erik had existed, as Gaston Leroux insisted, and it saddened her to think of his demise.

"Yes, well, he's dead now." The soprano shrugged carelessly.

Boston gasped. "How can you say that!"

"Well, if he's dead, he's not sad anymore."

"So? If he was alive, he'd at least have a chance for happiness."

"I just realized something." Jess stopped. "We have neither a flashlight nor any breadcrumbs. Getting lost could be a serious problem, you know."

"Well, we just won't go underground." Boston replied, ignoring her ironic mention of breadcrumbs. "Grimy they may be, but most of those rooms have windows."

"So? It's still pretty dark..."

"You're afraid of the dark, aren't you?"

"Me? No! I love me some music of the night. I'm just worried about my physical safety, that's all. How long do you think it will be before one of us falls over?"

"Not long." Even as she said it Boston stubbed her toe on a loose floorboard. "Oh look, stairs!" She clapped her hands happily: winding before her was a set of stone steps leading up to the top floors. It looked very medieval with niches in the walls for candles.

"And if we use any stairs, we will go up." Jess said firmly. "We're not going down underneath here, okay? It's a miracle I can believe this part of the theater is safe."

She shuddered, consumed by her obsession with physical safety. Jess, along with her reputation of being a little off her rocker, had a reputation as a germ-hater and paranoid health freak.

"You're right. It could fall down on us at any moment."

"Don't say that, duckling." The older of the two clucked at her, while her companion rolled her eyes.

She shrugged and started up the stairs. "Suit yourself. I want to see whether or not that chapel's still there."

"Chapel?" Jess followed her, despite her worried expression. "As in the one Christine goes to? The one where she's ensnared by the mysterious genius' spell?"

"Mmm... yes." Boston paused and raised an eyebrow. "You're not afraid of the mysterious genius, are you?"

"I'm not afraid of him." She said delicately. "Not him, just his malicious remains. I mean, either he's haunting the place or his bones are in some corner. I don't want to run across those."

"They already found them."

"They did?" Jess stopped, furrowing her brow.

Boston turned to face her. "Yeah. Haven't you read Leroux? In the prologue, he said they found his corpse in the lower levels."

"How did he know it was his?" The woman narrowed her eyes.

She sighed. "Because it was on the wrong side of the opera. Oh, never mind. Ah ha!" Boston declared. "I was right, you were wrong! It's still here!"

"Wow." Jess stood in the middle of the circular little chapel. "It looks like it hasn't been touched in... a hundred years."

"I'm surprised they didn't loot the place. Wasn't there an auction for all the stuff? A lot of auctions, actually." Boston frowned at the stand full of unlit candles.

"True. But this is a chapel. Maybe it's protected or something." Jess pulled her lighter out of her pocket.

"Why were you complaining about the lack of flashlights?" The other adventurer asked. "Why not use your lighter?" She paused. "Why do you even _have_ a lighter?"

"Just in case..." The soprano bent over and lit one of the taller candles.

The alto shivered and watched the flame flicker at her. _When was the last time one of the candles was lit?_ She thought.

"Do you hear that?" She said suddenly.

"Hear what?" Jess was still staring at the flame, looking a bit hypnotized.

Boston could have sworn she heard a thump of some sort. It had been coming from the other side of the wall.

"Let's go back, shall we?" She murmured, twitching frantically.

"Hmm?"

"I said, let's go back. Brio's probably worried. And Rio's probably been raped or something."

Jess shook herself out of her reverie. "You're right. Let's see if we can find that way again."

Her companion took one last look around the room before following her. "Do you think there might be someone else back here?" She asked.

"I doubt it." Jess snorted. "Who would be as insane as us?"

"Yeah... I guess so. It must have been a rat or a bird..." She added to herself thoughtfully.

"Hmm?"

"Nothing."

The two left the flame flickering, lonely in the dark, unused chapel.

**(A/N Sorry 'bout the delay there... my internet's been down for a week and my computer decided it hates me. So, normally, I'll write a little faster than this.)**


	4. Footprints

**(A/N This chapter further explores 'the chapel', which is taken from the play and the movie... as well as taking a quick tribute to our sexy Gerry, who we can admit is very good at 'Point of No Return', which this chapter is the beginning of.)**

"Alright. That's it. No more caffeine for you."

"Why? You know you love it." Rio couldn't stop twitching, while Boston was decidedly depressed. No one, not even Jess, would listen to her complaints about hearing noises in chapels.

"No, I can honestly say I don't." She groaned.

Rio pouted in a strangely hyper fashion. "Hey, at least I didn't get up at two o'clock in the morning just to watch some stupid American movie."

"Not a stupid American movie." Boston sniffed pettily. "Gerard Butler as Dracula, that's what it was. And you didn't seem to mind when you came out and joined me, eh?"

"It was horribly made and there was no plot!"

"You were drooling! Drooling, Rio!"

"If I was drooling, it was because I was asleep."

"Sure. You were wide awake. Eyes wide open."

"I'm not attracted to men with pointy teeth and red eyes."

"Yes you are."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Liar."

"Mean one."

"I'm mean! I also come bearing coffee." Jess said brightly (Boston groaned as Rio reached for Jess's cup), joining the pair on the floor of the stage. "What are we talking about?"

"Trying to decide if Gerard Butler is hot or not as Dracula." Boston answered as Rio opened her mouth in protest.

"Gerard Butler?" Jess frowned. "The guy who's the movie phantom? He's hot... but I've never seen him as Dracula..." She seemed interested at the prospect.

"It's amazing." Boston assured her. "Rio was impregnated."

"I was not!" Rio gasped, slapping her hard on the knee.

"You were moaning!"

"Was not!"

"Okay, okay, break it up." Brianne walked up, her face an ominous thundercloud. "Do any of you three happen to know anything yet?"

"No, of course not." Boston said firmly, followed by Rio's vigorous nod and Jess's all-too-happy smile.

What the director/producer of the production was referring to was the 'accident' that had occurred early in the practice. Since the season had begun, things had been going wrong left and right. More often than not it was bad planning or a prank of some sort, but occasionally something happened that was never explained. Two days after Boston had gone hysterical over the 'thump' in the chapel things had started to get worse, and a little more violent as opposed to innocent pranks.

This had her more than a little worried. Now _she_ was the one getting superstitious.

"How many times do I have to say it was just a random accident?" Rio told Boston as she looked around nervously, if comically. "Sets fall over all the time."

"We were lucky no one was on stage." Jess mused, sipping her coffee thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but the paint was still wet." Brianne said darkly. "Whoever did it's going to be very, very sorry when I find him. Or… her?"

"What if we were phantomed?" Jess raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to teach the _phantom_ a lesson?"

The older woman snorted. "I'll beat him around the ears until he's purple."

"I wonder what he'd look like purple..." Rio stared off into the distance vapidly.

"I wonder what he'd look like period." Boston added, mostly in seriousness. Jess and Rio laughed, although both looked interested by the idea.

Brianne sighed. "Apparently no one's going to pay any attention to me right now, so I'll go get something out of someone else." With that, she stalked off in the direction of another group sitting around onstage..

"So... we're stuck here until someone figures out what's going on?" Jess asked, making herself comfortable on the not-entirely-soft wooden stage.

"Well, Brio doesn't want us to start until she can figure at least one thing out." Rio explained.

"What's that?"

"I don't know." She blinked, looking entirely absent of thought. "What were we talking about?"

Boston rolled her eyes. "You know what? I say we go back to that chapel."

"Why?" Jess shivered and hugged her cup. "That place was creepy."

"It can be as creepy as it wants, but I want to go back."

"You're crazy." Rio said, however hypocritically. "It's dark and dusty, and for all we know some crazed lunatic from the streets of Paris is terrorizing the place."

"We'll take Aaron or something." Boston whirled around, looking for the angelic-voiced 'Erik' of the cast. "He's a big strong man, no?"

"Yes, I am." Aaron walked up with an exaggerated strut. "What's up?"

"She wants to go back to that chapel I told you about." Jess explained, pointing to her head in a 'crazy' gesture. "I told her we were going to get phantomed, kidnapped, or raped in the process, so she decided to take you along."

"No, thank you." He sat down with a groan. "I say we stay here. I'm not turning into that ex-set. There's some twisted gangster running around."

"I don't think it's a gangster..." Boston murmured, looking up at the old chandelier. _The very one Carlotta was singing to bring down…_ she thought.

"Oh Lord, Bos!" Rio snapped, suddenly sober. "I thought I was obsessed and/or crazy, and you're seriously suggesting that a one hundred and fifty year old phantom is destroying our sets!" Her expression softened, and returned to its previously caffeine-induced haze. "Well... that would be nice..."

"Oh, shut up." Jess hit them both on their knees. "I'm beginning to think your college tuition would have been better spent on therapy."

"Maybe it would." Boston mumbled.

"Who's complaining?" Rio added cheerfully.

"That's it." Boston grabbed Rio by the arm and stood up, twisting said arm considerably. "I don't care. We're going, with or without your phobias."

"I'm not afraid of being phantomed." She firmly planted her bottom on the stage. "I'm afraid of Eric."

"Why? He's... er… alluring."

"Are we talking about the same Eric?"

Boston raised an eyebrow, then laughed. "Apparently not."

Rio shuddered. "That man scares me. You'd think they'd find a less stupid, sadistic fellow for a Raoul. Isn't he supposed to be the kind, lovable refuge of Christine? I find it hard to treat him that way."

"Do we really know he's sadistic?" Boston said, getting the better of her friend and pulling her across the stage, ignoring Jess's half-mocking protests. "I mean, he probably doesn't even know what a naked woman looks like. Don't laugh, I'm serious!"

Rio snorted. "Just because he's stupid and stuck up doesn't mean he doesn't get girls. A lot of the chorus girls would do anything for a date with him."

"Yes, well, those are the girls who went after Aaron even after they found out he was married with... three? Three children. I dunno."

"Two. They move really fast, so it's easy to make that mistake."

"What's so funny?" Brianne asked darkly as the pair came around the curtain, laughed uproariously.

"Oh... life, director dear." Rio giggled. "Life."

She rolled her eyes to the sky in a fashion weirdly like Boston's. "Why are my two leading women crazy? Why, God, why?"

"Because God likes a little fun in life." Boston said, hugging the older woman, who recoiled like she was some sort of frightening phantom. "Hey... I'm not a snake or something... I won't bite. Most days."

"Go away." She grumbled, turning to her ballet girls. "Go practice. Find Aaron. Or sing Angel of Music. You know you need to. Just do something else."

"Yes ma'am." Rio took her friend's hand and skipped off in a way that was probably even more annoying to the woman.

"You know, I think we really do stretch her nerves a bit too much." Boston remarked. "Maybe we should try being just a bit more sane."

"Why? It's fun."

"You're cruel."

"Rio!" Rio sighed and Boston's heart sank.

"Yes, Eric?" She turned around, fixing him with her best death glare.

"Do you have a moment?" He asked, oblivious to her lack of enthusiasm for all things him.

"No, actually. I'm booked." She beamed so sarcastically it would have been insulting to anyone more intelligent. "Appointment for later?"

"Alright. This afternoon?" He asked hopefully.

"We'll see. Have a nice day!" Rio and Boston hurried away, not really caring where to.

"That man..." Rio narrowed her eyes and shook her fist angrily at the air behind her. "One day, he's going to kill me or something. Or I'll frame him so everyone will think he's killed me. Either one. But either one, I'd sue and win and be happy."

"You're a good person. Also not so smart." Boston added, upon realizing it would be very hard to sue one's killer.

"I know. Where are we going?"

"The chapel, stupid. I'm going crazier."

"We're gonna die. Both of us." Rio said with perfect carelessness.

"I have no objection to being punjabed. It's better than some ways to die."

"Do you know anyone who's been punjabed?"

"No."

"Well then, you don't know..."

"Do you? Here it is!" She turned down the hallway she and Jess had taken before. It looked a little more ominous than before, but then, she could easily credit that to her growing insanity.

"Ew." Rio inched away. "Creepy-dusty."

"Deal. Your lungs aren't that delicate, are they?"

"Yes." She offered little resistance as her friend pulled her down the hall.

"Be quiet."

"Why?" She retorted. "Afraid you really will get punjabed?"

"Not afraid." The other said cheerfully. Her smile then disappeared. "Look!"

Rio peered at the spot in the dust she pointed too. "Huh. Jess has big feet."

"Those aren't Jess' shoes." Boston said firmly. "Jess doesn't wear old-fashioned fancy men's shoes."

"Wouldn't put it past her." She muttered darkly, her attention momentarily taken by a stuffed monkey with a slightly rotted left eye.

Boston slapped her lightly. "I'm trying to be serious. Rio, there could be some psycho back here, you know."

"True. Or there could be a mysterious musical genius."

"I doubt it."

"Why? You'd love it as much as I would."

"Yeah..." _I would scream, cry, then stare at him in awe and adoration, that's what I'd do... _she thought. _But I'd probably then decide I was completely insane._

"You're lost, aren't you?" Rio said accusingly, after a couple of squabbles, some side-tracking, and periods of awkward silence. "Please tell me you're lost and we're really not purposefully going this far."

"I'm not lost." Boston assured her. "Not lost at all. Go back if you want to, but I'm going to find that chapel..."

"Oh, sure you are. What are you, a bloodhound?" Despite her whining she continued to trudge alongside her friend. "I, personally, am uncomfortable with being two small girls alone in a half-broken-down opera house where we just spotted a crazy man's dressed-up footprints in the dust!"

She said all this in one breath, causing Boston to laugh rather than to take her seriously. She was a little unstable at the moment, convinced that not only had she heard noises, but saw footprints that weren't there, and, maybe, even imagined old chapels.

"It's not funny! We could very well get hurt, you know!"

"Curiousity may have killed the cat, but I'm a ram, so..."

"A what?"

"An Aries. A ram."

"... Just shut up." Another awkward silence prevailed after that particularly odd interaction.

"Hey, a staircase!" Boston stopped dead and pointed to the winding stone thing.

"Whoop-dee-doo. We already passed six or seven." Rio grabbed her arm. "Let's go back. Please?"

"No, it's right here." Boston literally dragged her companion up the stairs, pausing at the top. "This is it, alright."

Rio brushed herself off and looked around. Her footsteps echoed ominously "Hey, cool." She examined the candles, the old stained-glass window, the faded tapestry on the wall, and even the stones that made up the floor.

"See, I told you it was worth it." Boston was then fixated by the candle Jess had lit on their last visit. It wasn't lit anymore, but the candle was considerably shorter. The cover which would have been used to put it out had been moved from its place at the stand's side to lying next to said candle.

"Not worth it." Rio was saying. "Just cool."

"Someone is back here." Boston picked up the stopper. "Someone moved this."

"It's probably just some old hobo." Her friend assured her. She was staring at the tapestry. "Which isn't all the comforting, really, but... who cares. Let's go. Now."

She said that last bit quite suddenly, just as Boston thought the same thing. Neither of them heard nor saw anything unusual: it was more a feeling of cold in the room.

It's just a draft... Boston assured herself, planting her feet on the ground as Rio desperately tugged on her elbow. For some reason she couldn't tear herself away from the quiet place.

"Let's go." She said again, almost panicking. "You're crazy to have wanted to come back here. It's creepy."

Boston looked at the candle again, then, with a shudder, took off down the stairs with Rio on her trail.

The two reached the end of the hallway, panting.

"What changed your mind?" Rio asked, the first to regain her breath.

"Did you hear something?" The other asked breathlessly.

"No. I think you're hearing impaired, that's what." She sighed and straightened. "Let's get back to the stage. I dunno how long we were back there, but someone's bound to be worried."

Boston looked back one more time, at the to-and-from footprints of herself, Jess, and Rio, then, the man's footprints that went only down the hallway, not back.


	5. 2nd Interlude

**(A/N By way of explanation - the interludes are about eight months _after_ the actual story. This kind of jumps ahead a bit just to keep things moving. This is the day after the first interlude. Now the Opera Populaire is putting on Les Miserables, so that's why 'On My Own' is in there. Sorry for the confusion, _Gretchen_. Ahem.)**

I sang softly to myself as I trudged up the stairs. Not a song that would be familiar to Erik, however, but a song from the play that was premiering in two days. I, unusually, was starring in it as Eponine, one of the main female characters.

"_And now I'm all alone again_," I sang, perhaps a little too cheerfully for Eponine's mood in that scene. She was mourning the loss of the man she loved to another woman, and I simply sounded bored. "_Nowhere to turn, no one to go to. Without a home, without a friend, without a face to say hello to…_"

Then, as I looked in my chapel (I called in mine now, as I was the only one, besides Erik, who ever visited it), I knew Erik was listening. I pretended not to notice and carried on. "_And now the night is near, now I can make believe he's here…"_

I wondered, as I sat on the old blanket I'd left for myself near the window, why Brianne loved to direct plays that, while originally French stories, were American. _Ah well_, I thought, _they're lovely stories, and in some ways, the first introduced me to my phantom_.

"_Sometimes I walk alone at night when everybody else is sleeping: I think of him then I'm happy with the company I'm keeping…_" Although I now thought of him as 'my phantom', I remembered, not long ago, that I had feared and wondered about him. Now, he was a friend and a companion. "_The city goes to bed… and I can live inside my head_."

I lived inside my head a lot those days. Since things had been getting more and more intense, with graduation less than a month past and my few friends drifting away from me, I took refuge in song and drama and the few who loved those same things I did.

"_On my own, pretending he's beside me… all alone, I walk with him 'till morning. Without him, I feel his arms around me, and when I lose my way I close my eyes and he has found me_."

Rio, my closest friend, had matured in the past few months due to the 'intense' happenings, but was still wild and a little odd. She was content as the play's Cosette, the other leading lady, and her life was a lot more together than mine. "_In the rain, the pavement shines like silver. All the lights are misty in the river… in the darkness, the trees are full of starlight… and all I see is him and me forever and forever_."

The closest thing I had to a 'him and me' was Erik and I, which wasn't much of a 'him and me'. I'd only ever seen him once, and then I had run, frightened by the shape in the dark.

"_And I know it's only in my mind_," I smiled, since I often thought that perhaps he was only in my mind. "_That I'm talking to myself and not to him… and although I know that he is blind, still I say, there's a way for us_."

There was little way for us: I sometimes doubted Erik was still capable of such human emotions as love: a fondness or obsession.

"_I love him, but when the night is over, he's gone and the river's just a river. Without him, the world around me changes: the trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers_."

I drew my legs up to my chin, suddenly uncomfortable with Erik's presence. I continued singing, however, knowing he would only urge me on if I stopped.

"_I love him, but every day I'm learning: all my life I've only been pretending. Without me, his world will go on turning, a world that's full of happiness that I have never known!_"

I was singing with the emotion called for now: today the song tugged at something in me that had been lurking for months. "_I love him…_" I whispered, "_I love him…_"

I picked up another of blankets and pulled it about my shoulders, suddenly shivering. "_I love him… but only on my own_."

"Bravo, mademoiselle." Came the voice, after a moment. "That was… beautiful."

I burst into tears, because there was such pain in that voice.


	6. The Shape

**(A/N This chapter probably isn't worthy for posting, but I'm lazy and want to move on, so, here we go.)**

"Jess," Boston turned to her friend with a resigned sigh. "I'm legally insane now."

"Really?" She said, genuinely interested. "When did that happen? Do you a license or something? Do you get special privileges?"

"No." The other leaned against the wall. "I guess I should've said clinically insane. Because no one official has, as yet, told me I'm crazy."

"I've told you you're crazy. Rio's told you you're crazy."

"Yes, but-"

"Aaron's told you, Brio's told you, your parents have told you, your sister's told you, even Eric's told you..."

"Stop! Stop!" Boston covered her ears. "Lalalalaaa..."

"Of course, none of us are very official... I'm sorry, what?" Jess blinked and stared at her curiously.

The blond alto opened her eyes. "Can I talk now? Is it safe?"

"I'd say so, chap." The blond soprano trilled, trying her best to have a British accent in French. "Don't know why not."

Boston gave her a withering look. "Anyway, as I was trying to say, I think I'm insane."

"I know."

"Be quiet. I think I'm insane for two reasons."

"Let's hear them, by all means."

"Shut up! One, I hear things other people don't. Two, I can't stop thinking about them. Actually: three, I want to keep going back to the places where I hear the noise because I can't stop thinking about it."

"You said two before." Boston rolled her eyes and prepared to yell and scream, but Jess continued relentlessly. "But that's okay, you changed your mind. Yes, I see why you'd think you're insane."

"Good. Because Rio actually tells me I'm insane instead of acknowledging that I think I'm insane." She flopped into a chair. "And that makes me feel bad."

"Oh, I wasn't saying I don't think you're crazy." Jess chirped, turning to her script. "I do think you're crazy."

"Thanks," her companion muttered dryly.

"_I_ think you're crazy." It was Aaron. Boston groaned and sank lower in the chair, ignoring the fact that it was an antique armchair she could get butchered for sitting in.

The pair of eccentric actresses had taken refuge in one of the old dressing rooms: probably the one the infamous Christine Daaé herself could have used as the star of Don Juan Triumphant. This unnerved Boston more than a little, as it reminded her of her mysterious voices and footprints just too much for comfort.

"Aw, I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?" Aaron patted her head gingerly.

"No." She grumbled. "Just made me feel a little doomed."

"Doomed? Honey, nobody here is doomed." Jess told her firmly. "So you're a nutcase, Aaron is disgustingly happily married, and I'm going straight to hell on a squirrel's back, doesn't mean we're doomed."

The other smiled wearily, while the man in the room just gave her a queer look.

"Okay... I don't think I want to know about the previous conversation."

"No, you don't." Jess said. "But we'd just love to hear what you've got to say."

He paused and stared at her blankly for some time. "What? Oh! Right. Brio wants Jess and Rio wants Boston. I, the star of the show, am now their personal courier."

"Fun! Can you be my personal courier too?" Jess sat up straight, looking every inch the thirteen-year-old she wasn't.

"No." He said firmly. "Now come. Now. Now, I say."

The two followed him out the ornate door as he continued to jabber. "What where you talking about anyway? And why in there? It's kinda creepy..."

"We were talking about my craziness." Boston told him. "And I thought you didn't want to know."

"I lied. Now answer my other question."

She shrugged and looked at Jess, who also shrugged. "It's quiet, and it creeps Brio out, too, so she doesn't go in there."

"Ah." Aaron nodded his head sagely. "Escaping the Brio. As it should be. Clever, clever."

The trio emerged onto the stage, where Brianne was impatiently screaming at the maestro, who had a blank, slightly disturbed look on his face.

"There you are!" She said shrilly. "Jess, talk to this man! You know the piece better than me!"

"What about me?" Aaron slid up. "Anything for me to do?"

"You're like a child! Always needing direction." The woman threw up her hands. "Go... find Rio. Sing with her or something. She's as bad as you are."

Aaron and Boston joined Rio in the back of the theater, where she sat in one of the audience chairs, seemingly talking to herself. She was, in fact, reading the script aloud to herself.

"When are we going to start with the 'Down Once More' scene?" Rio said irritably, by way of greeting.

"Nice to see you, too." Aaron sat down next to her. "And I don't know. No one but Madame Brio knows, and she's a mystery. A horrible, screaming mystery, but a mystery nonetheless."

"Ah well." Rio grinned and hugged him. "My little phantom. So nice to have you."

"Eh..." He edged away as much as possible in the tiny chair. "Now I'm worried."

Boston sighed and turned dejectedly. "I'll guess I'll go, then."

"Why?" Both the stars said, looking up for way to much energy for their friend's comfort.

"Because you need to practice." She shrugged. "I'll slave away for Madame or something."

"Sure?" Rio's brow furrowed with concern for her friend. _Crazy she may be, but she was still human_. Boston thought, with a stirring of actual feeling for the girl.

"Yes." With that, the moody singer turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Quite the storm cloud, eh?" One of the friendlier of the 'misc.' actresses, Dori, sidled up. "What's the matter?"

Dori was a chorus member with a lovely voice, a dancer with a gift for flexibility, and an actress with a knack for fooling her own mother. She was, in a way, a Christine reincarnate, had it not been that she was rather homely and plain. She resembled a shorter, less unique Boston.

"Ah, nothing." She half-hugged Dori with a sigh. "Dor, do you think I'm crazy?"

Her companion thought for moment, turning to follow the other's slow steps to the stage. "The right answer is... no."

"No, seriously. Do you think something's wrong with me?"

"Seriously?" Dori raised her eyebrows. "No, not really. You're weird. Fun-weird. But that's good. I don't think there's something that wrong with you."

Boston stopped walking. "Dor, my hand is twitching. I'm crazy."

"Everybody twitches! EVERYBODY!" The shorter girl shook her wildly. "Stop it! You. Are. Fine."

"No, you know, you're right." Boston took a zen-like breath, gesturing oddly. "I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm sane. I'm just overreacting."

"Yes." She nodded vigorously. "Keep thinking that. These are just your nerves."

Boston stopped again. "My nerves..." She bit her lip and took off. "I shall return!"

Dori shook her head and walked away. "She's nuts."

"I heard that!" Boston shrieked as she disappeared backstage.

_Alright_, she thought. _I'm going back there, alone. I'm going to sit in that chapel _alone_ for a full ten minutes without hearing anything. It's just an old room nobody, _nobody_, has been in for a long, long time._

She found the stairs almost automatically. She ran up them, picturing the tranquil window and the lonely candles. This was beginning to seem nice. Maybe the chapel would be a place where she could be really, actually, alone.

The problem was, when she entered the room, she wasn't alone. She froze in the threshold. There was a cloaked man bent over the candles: an imposing black shape much bigger than herself.

It, he, straightened, and bright shining eyes caught Boston's.

She stopped a scream with a hand over her mouth as she tore her eyes away from his and noticed his face. It was either very, very white, or covered with a mask.

Boston had every intention of falling hysterical into Rio's, Jess', or even Aaron's arms if need be as she ran. Whether she was crazy or whether there was just some scary man lurking back in the theater, it didn't matter. Both were cause for worry.

But as she reached the more populated areas of the Opera Populaire, slowing to a walk, she began to change her mind.

She'd, by then, convinced herself that she _was _crazy as opposed to simply the victim of circumstance. But of course, she hadn't solved her problem of madness. But this time, she thought, she'd just lay low and pretend that had never happened.

Yes, it would irk her. It would be on the corner of her mind. There would be a lot of lost sleep. But she would rather live her life in a nuthouse than in that room with that large, frightening hallucination.

So when she dodged into the halls busy with stage crew and members of the production she looked calm, sidling about and looking bored. This was a little difficult, as she was sweating and her heart was pounding rather painfully.

Aaron and Rio were still in the back, absorbed in whatever they were doing. The dancers were ballet-ing on the stage at the time, which painfully reminded Boston that she was supposed to be among them as Meg.

She slipped into line, praying she wouldn't be noticed. She was.

"Where did you go, Boston?" Brianne snapped. Boston wondered momentarily if she ever had spare time.

"Uh..." was all she managed.

"You know what? I don't care. Just don't miss again." The first lady of the stage turned to the others, correcting their posture and other such things.

"I can't believe you ran off before practice." Dori leaned over and hissed to her companion.

"Would you rather have me run off after practice?" She asked.

"Silence in the ranks!" Brianne said, with apparently no irony intended.

"Boot camp, this." The girl on the other side of Boston muttered. The girl was new, so she made a note to learn her name.

"Hush." The director said firmly.

By the time practice was over and the dancers limped away with swollen ankles and toes, the sun was almost gone and Rio stood at the door with an impatient Jess.

"Bye, Dori." Boston waved to her and some other dancers with which she was friendly.

"Oh yes, delay the rest of us so you can say goodbye to your friends. Selfish." Rio raved.

"Hypocrite." Boston said under her breath.

"I heard that."

"What'd I say, then?"

Rio stared at her for a moment then hung her head in shame. "I lied."

"That's okay. I thought so." They hugged and made up. Boston's smile was still a little false, as she was still shaken for more reasons than an insane ballet director.

As the three popped into the car Boston found herself being stared at by Jess.

"What?" She finally said after several minutes of awkward silence. "Do I have a large, recently squashed fly on my forehead or something? What?"

"No. Although it would stand out quite nicely against the paste-like color of your face." Jess added thoughtfully.

"Oh. Maybe I should get out in the sun more." Boston brushed it off, glancing out the window and feeling shaken. Images of the tall figure still haunted her, and, for some reason, she couldn't help but feel gravitated to the strange shape in the dark. She credited this to her insane mind, and pushed it aside.

"Actually, Jess is right." Rio leaned forward from the back. "You are about three shades whiter than usual."

"I'm tired."

"You're not going to throw up, are you?" Jess slowed down a bit in preparation to kick her out.

"No! I'm just tired."

"Oh well." Rio sat back. "I'd believe that. Maybe you won't snore tonight, then."

"I've never snored in my life, stupid."

"Liar."

"Who's calling who the liar?"

"The liar's calling you a liar." Jess explained. "Happens all the time."

"Just hurry up." Boston groaned. "I need sleep."

Truth was, Boston didn't think it was likely that she was going to sleep. She probably either going to stare at the roof, dwelling on the encounter with the cloaked man, or having nightmares about said cloaked man.

They did, in fact, get there soon. Or rather, Boston was too preoccupied to notice time moving at all.

As if just to spite her friend, Rio invited Jess in for a light dinner. The soprano insisted she wasn't hungry, but came in anyway.

After three flights of stairs forced upon them by a recently destroyed elevator (something about some kid's breakfast being lost), the trio collapsed into the apartment, panting and cursing all weak-stomached children.

"Oh..." Jess sighed as she looked around. "I wish my parents had been as rich as yours when I was as old as you. Then I could've had such a lovely apartment, too."

"It's not that lovely. It's the tiniest flat this side of the river." Rio chirped. _Sometimes she's so American_, Boston thought. At that moment she'd lapsed so into her accent that it had been rather hard to understand her.

"Oh," Rio said, trying for peaceful conversation, "try a plum, they're better than sex."

"Really?" Jess tried one, letting the juice run down her chin. "Mmmm... I believe you may be right..."

"Don't have a plum-orgy." Rio warned her. "We'll have to kick you out."

"Like you don't ever have plum-orgies." Jess scoffed.

"Hey, I can have fruitsex whenever I want." Rio insisted.

Jess raised her eyebrows. "I'm leaving..."

"Bye!" The girls chorused. "I hate you." They then told each other."

"Why do you hate_ me_?" Rio said innocently.

"Because you suck."

"Stop picking up my American slang!" She whined.

"Yes ma'am." The other rolled her eyes and started to strip. "I'm going to crawl in bed and _n__ot _think about plums for a while, okay?"


	7. Masquerade

**(A/N Before beginning the lovely story of Boston's descend into madness, I'd like to credit the creation of the character Mercedes to my dear RabidGerbil666. Or something like that. Something radiby and gerbil-involving. Anyway, her name I know and I bow to her for filling the gaps of my unimaginativeness.)**

"I hate my life." Boston decided.

"Why's that?" Rio asked, admiring herself openly in the mirror.

She glared at the blond from her position on her bed. "You have an amazing voice and you're gorgeous, and you're still somehow crazy _and_ happy. Me, I'm average, mousy, and absolutely crazy _and_ unhappy."

"Why should you be unhappy? Here, I'll fix your hair if you want me to."

"I don't want you too."

"Why? I'm better at it than you."

"That's exactly why!" Boston flinched away from Rio's probing comb.

"Ohh... jealous green monster. Tsk, tsk. If you're so self-conscious why are we doing this?"

"Because it's cool." Boston clapped a hand to her mouth. "Did I just say 'cool'?"

"Yes."

"Ugh. I should not be living with you."

"Hey, Americans may be pretty thick, but we're trendsetters. And you need an American friend to go to a function like this."

Boston glowered some more. "It's not a 'function'. It's a party for a bunch of patrons and cast members and snobs like you."

"I'm not a snob. I work for a living."

"Yeah, between acting and bagging groceries."

"Hey! You bag groceries as much as I do."

"No, I was a sales clerk. Sort of."

"Just... shut up." Rio narrowed her eyes at her reflection. She looked good in her evening wear, but she was having problems with her hair. "Okay, long beautiful locks work okay for 19th century frilly dresses, but not for modern gala-wear."

"Straighten them and pile it all up on top or something." Boston had the urge rub in her own manageable brown, average-length hair, but decided it wasn't worth the argument, especially since she'd just successfully criticized said hair.

"Easy for you to say." The shallower edge of the girl had come out. "You're nice and tall and slim."

"I look like a strangely tall mouse-creature." The alto insisted.

"Only when you wear gray."

"Thanks." A rapid knock interrupted their bickering. Boston got up with a groan. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

"Hello there, my pretties." It was Jess.

"What are you doing here?" Rio asked suspiciously, wrestling with a difficult earring as she emerged from the bedroom.

"Well, you know." She shrugged. "You guys are on the way and I'm not sure I'd feel safe with one of you driving on the road around here."

"We're not that bad." Boston insisted, but when Jess raised her eyebrows she sighed and said, "Yeah, okay, just don't rub it in."

"Why would I rub it in? It's fun driving you around while I'm young."

"Are you ready yet?" Boston shrieked suddenly, causing Jess to jump and Rio to scuttle up alongside them.

"_Me_? What about you?" Rio asked. "Are you just going to leave your hair down like that?"

"Yes. So?"

"Alright, I don't want to supervise any heated discussions here." Jess jerked her head in the direction of the hallway. "Shall we?"

"If we must." Rio sighed and took her friends' wrists, dragging them down the hall.

"I get the feeling this wasn't her idea." Jess mumbled to Boston.

"What, are you kidding? She hates these little 'functions', as she calls them. They 'cramp her style'. Not like I encouraged her."

"I can hear you!"

"Of course you can. You're about two inches in front of us."

"So why aren't you talking _to_ me? And why in God's name are the stairs so far from the apartment?"

"Because you're too stupid to use the elevator." Boston grumbled. The pair lived on the third story and Rio insisted upon using the stairs for everything after the kid-losing-breakfast incident. Something about power supply and the environment, although Boston was sure it had to do with squeamishness.

"Hey, I know _how_ to use an elevator..."

"Sure you do." Jess snorted. She, too, had been a victim of Rio's abstinence from elevators several times, even before the kid-losing-breakfast incident.

Once they reached the parking lot, after much complaining and snapping about high heels and stairs and stubborn, environmentally safe sopranos, Jess decided to make all their lives worse by forgetting where she parked the car.

"I can't believe you forgot where you were five minutes ago!" Rio literally screamed at her. It was cold, and the 'environmentally safe' soprano had, apparently, had a memory slip and she hadn't worn hardly anything at all.

"Oh, there it is!" Jess cried, finding her tiny purple car in the corner of the lot. "Now, let's go!"

"I hate functions." Boston snapped to no one in particular as she struggled to be comfortable in the tiny car. "I hope I'm not expected to dance."

"Does every sentence you speak begin with 'I hate'?" Jess said in a disgustingly cheerful voice.

"No. That one began with 'no'." She rubbed her thighs. "These heels are killing me."

"That wasn't a sentence." Rio chimed in. "It didn't have a subject and verb and didn't express a complete thought."

"It did so express a complete thought. It expressed 'no'." Boston gave her a comic, fake smile with the word 'no'.

"Well, if it helps, you both look beautiful." Jess tried for a nice, friendly statement from the driver's seat. "And you both have dates, too."

"Correction: Rio has a date. He's meeting us there." Boston sighed. "I haven't had a date to anything since high school."

"Hey, I'm you're date, stupid." Jess reached back and whacked her. "Does anybody care about the thirty-year-old single soprano?"

"No." Both girls muttered.

"Well, that's just rude. I drive you to rehearsal every day. And I saved Boston's life one day, what with that freaky incident in the chapel."

The only alto in the car rolled her eyes. "The only thing you saved was your own sanity, whilst pushing mine over the edge."

"Ah ha!" Jess cried. "We're here!"

"Finally!" Rio clambered out of the car, searching the lot for her boyfriend. He appeared on the steps of the theater, a big smile on his face. Bryant was handsome, not entirely tall (Jess towered over him, but she was an exceptional case), but studying to be a lawyer. All in all, he was quite a catch, and Rio loved to rub it in others' faces.

They kissed and Jess made a face. "Get all lovey-dovey later, if you must. For now, let's have our own little modern masquerade."

"Sans Red Death." Boston muttered, shivering. "Hopefully."

"Oh, I don't know." The oldest there said a little immaturely. "I think that'd be exciting."

"Trust me, it wouldn't." She stared at the black sky, which only reminded her of how black the shape had been.

"What?" Jess raised her eyebrows at Boston.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything. Did you think I did?" She said a little too quickly. Her companions shrugged and dragged her towards the door. "I don't wanna go!" she wailed.

"Maybe if we kidnapped one of my friends and forced him to go out with her..." Bryant mused.

Rio shook her head. "Boston has values. She doesn't believe in kidnapping."

"Sure, _I_ have values." Their captive scoffed. "I'll give you values, you posh opera singers."

Bryant cleared his throat. "Uh, I can't sing for my life."

"Right." She sighed. "Whatever."

Jess pushed the door open with her shoulder, and then even Boston admitted it was a good idea coming. The hall looked beautiful, almost as golden and shining as it would have a hundred years ago. The people were a little more modernly dressed, if almost as finely. They were a mix of various colors ranging from rainbow-like to pitch black.

Boston looked down at herself, and sighed. She was dressed in that 'tiny black dress' which she had so often been told looked good on her, but had never managed a real date in it.

The hall itself was ornate and reminiscent of some 1800s party involving waltzing aristocrats. No one was waltzing, but they were dancing rather slowly.

Rio dragged Bryant onto the floor and Jess gave Boston a hopeful look, but was discouraged by the Brit's glare. She stalked off, in search of some poor other character.

Boston sighed, feeling a bit lonely. It wasn't the first time she'd been left alone among whirling, happy dancers.

As if to ease her loneliness Dori conveniently appeared at her side, accompanied by the company's Joseph Buquet, Percy.

"Percy!" Boston quite literally jumped on the poor man, almost knocking him over. "Dance? Please?"

Percy laughed, but obeyed. "What about Dori?" He asked.

His partner shrugged. "Dori, I love you!" She called, earning a laugh and a head shake. Dori wasn't lonely, though: she'd brought her own date.

Boston heaved a sigh and smiled. "I was starting to think I'd be standing in a corner all night." Percy wasn't attractive, nor was he single, but the two were good friends and he had no problem doing her a favor.

He voiced those sentiments, and she smiled gratefully.

The music stopped, and the dancers all glanced up and around. Standing on the balcony was Brianne and the owner of the Opera Populaire, Mercedes. Ironically, the two most important people in the Opera were two women, as opposed to the Andre and Firmin of old.

"Sorry!" Were the first words out of the feisty director's lips. "But you can continue fraternizing in a bit, after we've bored you with our thanks."

Mercedes, the dark-haired, middle-aged, formidable and rich lover of the arts, laughed at her colleague's words. "I don't have anything nearly as witty or amusing to say as my favorite director or her talented actors, but I would like to thank all of you for lowering yourselves to attend our little gala."

Smattering of laughter and applause from the crowd. Boston chuckled to herself. Her life was filled with strange, brilliant people who often ruled it.

The owner continued after a skillful pause. "I don't want to take up too much of your valuable talking and dancing time, but I'd like to pause the fighting to have you all participate in a tradition here at the Opera Populaire."

Boston stifled a laugh. Not this, she thought. It was funny, but significant. Ever since the Opera had been reopened and restored they had held a yearly gala like this one (she pushed back amusing thoughts of the last one: things had not gone entirely as planned) and at every gala the guests were 'forced' to dance to the score of Masquerade.

The gala was never an actual masquerade, and guests were most often dressed in their most modern-as-possible finest, but everyone obeyed. It was nice to waltz, for a change, and was often a lot of fun to be whirled around the floor. Someone always knocked something or someone over in the process, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Boston didn't like to think of the last time she'd danced to 'Masquerade'. Well, technically, she hadn't danced, as Percy had had a date the year before and she'd ended up on the stairs glaring at the doors like they were her troubles. This year looked better, as Percy's fiancée was home with the flu and he was only coming out of cruelty from Brianne.

This year would be different, however. Out of sheer boredom and spontaneous idea, Brianne had taught the entire cast how to sing the song, and had given them all somewhere to be during said song.

So, obediently, Boston, now Meg, took Percy's, now Buquet's, hand and led him to the top of the stairs. Percy cackled a bit evilly, much as his vulgar counterpart might have. Boston gave him her best innocent smile and twirled in her un-twirl-able dress.

"Enjoy." Mercedes said with a mysterious smile that held no meaning for Boston. "I believe my esteemed colleague has something a little... weird... planned for this evening. In honor of this season's coming attraction."

The guests murmured among themselves, unsure of what to expect. True, Brianne had been known to do some strange things in her life.

So, the music started. First, things seemed no different. Then…

"_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade ..._

_Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you!_

_Masquerade! Every face a different shade ..._

_Masquerade! Look around - there's another mask behind you_!"

Boston felt a bit sick twirling on the floor, but sang obediently, trying to be as Meg-like as possible. The patrons and other guests were delighted, however. They almost forgot to dance, while Boston's mind was filled was remembering the shape.

"_Flash of mauve, splash of puce …_

_Fool and king, ghoul and ghost ..._

_Green and black, queen and priest ..._

_Trace of rouge, face of beast ..._

_Faces ... take your turn, take a ride_

_on the merry-go-round ... in an inhuman race ..._

_Eye of gold, thigh of blue ..._

_True is false, who is who?_

_Curl of lip, swirl of gown ..._

_Ace of hearts, face of clown ..._

_Faces ... drink it in, drink it up,_

_till you've drowned in the light ... in the sound ..._"

"_But who can name the face_?" Rio, having turned on her own hidden microphone, sang her solo.

The cast took up the chorus again, while Boston clung to Percy for dear life.

"_Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds ..._

_Masquerade! Take your fill - let the spectacle astound you!_

_Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads ..._

_Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!_

_Masquerade! Seething shadows, breathing lies ..._

_Masquerade! You can fool and friend who ever knew you!_

_Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes ..._

_Masquerade! Run and hide - but a face will still pursue you!_"

_A face will still pursue you…_Boston hastily turned on her own microphone, just remembering she herself had a part.

"_What a night_!" Brianne materialized on the stairs, playing the part she'd given herself as Madame Giry.

"_What a crowd_!" Boston joined her on the arm of Percy.

"_Makes you glad_!" A short, dark-haired actor name Marlon, a.k.a. Andre, sang. He'd been with the theater almost as long as Brianne.

"_Makes you proud! All the crème de la crème_!" Frémon, or Firmin (no pun was intended in this casting), appeared at his costars' sides.

Jess struck up the song, trilling and on the arm of her Piangi, Gustav the portly tenor. "_Watching us watching them_!"

"_And all our fears our in the past_!" Boston felt a swell of pride at singing with Brianne, although her own fears hadn't exactly disappeared.

Marlon: "_Six months..._"

Gustav: "_Of relief_!"

Jess: "_Of delight_!"

Marlon and Frémon: "_Of Elysian peace_!"

Boston and Brianne: "_And we can breathe at last_!"

_Can we really? _Boston thought, remembering the various 'accidents' that had occurred of late.

Jess: "_No more notes_!"

Gustav: "_No more ghosts_!"

Brianne: "_Here's a health_!"

Marlon: "_Here's a toast: to a prosperous year_!"

Frémon: "_To the new chandelier_!" (Although there was no new chandelier: there hadn't been a new chandelier since the old one, the one that had fallen as Christine Daaé's feet, had been restored.)

Jess: "_And may its splendor never fade_!"

"_Six months_!" Frémon said, as the company continued down the stairs. Boston just remembered how 'six months' applied to the current Opera Populaire. Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera would premiere in six weeks, not months, but Brianne insisted this was close enough to apply.

"_What a joy_," Brianne looked at Boston. She was happier than Boston had ever seen her: Brianne was only happy when acting.

So she sang, "_What a change_!" with enthusiasm for her director, although she felt increasingly uneasy with every whirl.

Frémon and Marlon picked it up, "_What a blessed release_!"

"_And what a masquerade_!" Finished Marlon. The cast skipped the scene between Raoul and Christine, as they didn't want to take too much of the guests' time. That, and Rio had argued fiercely that it would be a spoiler for the show.

"_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade!_

_Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you!_

_Masquerade! Every face a different shade!_

_Masquerade! Look around - there's another mask behind you!_

_Masquerade! Burning glances! turning heads ..._

_Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!_

_Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds ..._

_Masquerade! Take your fill_ -"

The company stopped. The guests, on the verge of bursting into applause at their dramatic ascent down the stairs, froze.

It was pitch-black: the lights were gone and the music had stopped. Boston nearly fainted with shock and horror.


	8. A Hand and a Rose

Darkness ruled. Boston blinked, but could hardly tell when her eyes were opened or closed. Strangely, 'Music of the Night' was playing on a loop in her head.

She clung to Percy, who was breathing a little deeper and faster than normal.

Rio's voice broke the dead silence in the elaborate, rich-people-filled hall.

"I see dead people." She whispered her voice in the general vicinity of Boston's right.

This caused bits of nervous laughter, breaking the dark apprehension. Boston felt a hand on her arm. She jumped, and then assumed it was Dori or Jess or Rio. It tightened on her forearm, holding it for several seconds, then let go.

The lights flickered on, like some horror film created on a budget of $2, resulting in cries of relief, surprise, and some of terror.

Boston looked around for the owner of the hand, but saw none of three suspects near her. Then, she realized the hand had been much bigger than any of her friends', even Jess'. For a moment she thought it must have been Percy, then remembered that at the time his hands had both been accounted for: one on her other arm and the other holding her other hand.

_For one thing_, she thought, _his hands aren't gloved_. This hand was. And, even under the glove, she could feel how incredibly cold it had been.

Putting it off to the decision that she was crazy, though unable to really push it away, she looked for her friends to make sure they hadn't hurt themselves in the dark.

Dori was standing, her mouth wide open, with her boyfriend on the other side of the room from Boston, Rio was whirling around frantically, still on Bryant's arm, and Jess stood, blinking, next to Gustav.

It was Mercedes who stopped the buzz of conversation in the room. Boston turned and watched her, still thoroughly chilled to the bone.

"Hey! Hey, everyone! Attention! Up here!" She called, waving her arms in a very un-Mercedes-like fashion. The crowd, one by one, looked up at her in the balcony. "I don't know what happened, but I'm sure we'll find out soon. More than likely it was just a quick power failure, or an accident."

"Or maybe it wasn't." Percy muttered darkly, looking around a bit comically at the darker. Boston slapped him lightly in the stomach, mostly to calm her own nerves.

"I can understand," the owner continued, "if all of you want to go home now, because that was a bit of a scare. But I'd like to ask all of you to stay, as the night only just began."

Rio came up to Boston, looking disheveled but nonetheless happy enough. "Stay with me? I don't want to leave: I figure a blackout isn't going to ruin my night."

The brunette shrugged. "Yeah, well, it already ruined mine as much as it could, so, what the heck?"

So Boston stayed the night, and nothing else happened to trespass upon the rich and artistic of the Opera Populaire. (Excluding one sprained ankle, two drunken lords, and a doozy of a first step.)

The next morning, however, heralded more disturbing events.

About an hour after rehearsal began Angie, the 'costume mistress', came running on stage, panting. "Madame! Madame!"

Brianne looked up from her score. "Angie." She sighed, more than a little used to the girl's paranoid ways.

"Come and see." She leaned over, hands on her knees, wheezing. On closer examination, Boston noted that her eyes were not wide with exhaustion, but with fear. "It's in… backstage…"

"That made no grammatical sense whatsoever." Rio commented idly from her vantage point on the stage.

Angie, now Rio's sworn rival, gave her a wild glare. "It was you, wasn't it? You just did it to scare us."

Rio looked genuinely confused. Boston knew 'genuinely confused' when she saw it on Rio: it was not uncommon on her face.

"Excuse me?" She gave a world-weary sigh. "Angie, dear, I don't prank to frighten. I prank to amuse."

Angie laughed a slightly hysterical laugh, but could find nothing to say.

Brianne, as usual, calmly took the girl's arm and led her to where she'd come from. "I'm sure it's just your imagination, whatever it is."

The costume maker would have burst into fierce denial, but still too shell-shocked by the something to speak.

Once they and a small band of nosy cast and/or crew members left Rio sat down with a grunt. "This thing'll never get on stage if this place doesn't stop being so damned haunted."

"Tsk, tsk." Jess shook her head from her position in the audience. "Such language, young Prima Donna."

"Oh, I don't need preaching from a hypocrite." She gave a long-suffering groan, putting a hand to her forehead.

Boston snorted, and then launched into song. "_Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perfect! I only wish I knew your secret! Who is this new tutor_?"

"I wish I had a real tutor." Her companion said dreamily.

"Shut up and sing." Boston snapped. They had nothing else to do: Brianne had asked for them, Eric, and Aaron to be the only ones to come today. She planned on rehearsing the dressing room scenes alone with 'Angel of Music". Jess was just there for kicks.

Grudgingly, Rio obeyed. "_Father once spoke of an angel… I used to dream he'd appear… Now as I sing I can sense him, and I know he's here..._"

Boston found herself dwelling on the actual identity of the Angel of Music as her friend sang. _I've never had an Angel of Music. Just a phantom_.

"_Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside, hiding… Somehow I know he's always with me, he – the unseen genius_." She continued, a slightly vapid if absorbed expression on her face.

"_I watched your face from the shadows: distant through all the applause_…"Boston took a deep breath in the silence of the room, "_I hear your voice in the darkness, but the words aren't yours_…"

"_Angel of music! Guide and guardian, grant me to your glory_!" Rio belted out the soprano notes with uncanny ease.

"_Who is this angel? This_…" _Who_ is _this 'angel'_? Boston's thoughts echoed the song, though, subconsciously, she heard 'phantom' in the place of 'angel'.

"_Angel of music! Hide no longer! Secret and strange angel_…"

Rio's voice drifted off at the sight of Brianne returning, "_He's with me even now_…"

Boston, not seeing, continued. "_Your hands are cold_…"

Brianne, still beyond Boston's sight, gestured for the two to continue. She was pasty white and trembling.

After a look of concern, the director's pet took a breath, "_All around me_…"

Her costar turned to her, oblivious. "_Your face, Christine, it's white_…"

"_It frightens me_…"

Boston frowned. Rio's acting was even more convincing than she was used to. "_Don't be frightened_." She sang, sincerely, while wishing she had someone to say that to her, especially after the cold death's hand she'd felt.

Brianne stepped forward with a sigh. "_Meg Giry. Are you a dancer? Then come and practice. My dear, I was asked to give you this_…" Instead of handing Rio a red scarf, she held in her hand a red rose, with a black ribbon tied around its stem.

Rio's hand flew to her mouth. Boston closed her eyes, having the sudden urge to burst into tears.

"Sing." Brianne hissed. "This is a practice."

The play would always be the woman's priority, strange goings-on or not.

"_A red rose_…" The girl sang defiantly. "_The attic… Little Lotte_…"

"It's not for her." Angie said suddenly.

All present turned to look at her. She was shaking, violently, and she held a note in her hand. Brianne took it from her, with little sympathy in her eyes for the girl's plight.

If possible, the woman turned even whiter, then gave the note to Rio. Wordlessly, Rio handed it on to Boston.

Boston grabbed her friend, feeling distinctly faint. Written on the paper were two words in a flowing if slightly childish-looking hand was: _Mademoiselle Boston_.


	9. 3rd Interlude

**(A/N – 'A Little Fall of Rain' is in French in this chapter. (French is prettier, if not English…) For you non-Les Mis fans, 'A Little Fall of Rain' is between Marius and Eponine. Eponine loved Marius, although it wasn't mutual, and is now dying. Translation:**

**Eponine:**  
Don't you fret, M'sieur Marius  
I don't feel any pain  
A little fall of rain  
Can hardly hurt me now  
You're here, that's all I need to know  
And you will keep me safe  
And you will keep me close  
And rain will make the flowers grow.

**Marius:**  
But you will live, 'Ponine - dear God above,  
If I could heal your wounds with words of love.

**Eponine:**  
Just hold me now, and let it be.  
Shelter me, comfort me

**Marius:**  
You would live a hundred years  
If I could show you how  
I won't desert you now...

**Eponine:**  
The rain can't hurt me now  
This rain will wash away what's past  
And you will keep me safe  
And you will keep me close  
I'll sleep in your embrace at last.

The rain that brings you here  
Is Heaven-blessed!  
The skies begin to clear  
And I'm at rest  
A breath away from where you are  
I've come home from so far

**Eponine:**  
So don't you fret, M'sieur Marius  
I don't feel any pain  
A little fall of rain  
Can hardly hurt me now

**Marius:** _(in counterpoint)_  
Hush-a-bye, dear Eponine,  
You won't feel any pain  
A little fall of rain  
Can hardly hurt you now

**Marius:** I'm here  
**Eponine:** That's all I need to know

**Eponine:**  
And you will keep me safe  
And you will keep me close

**Marius:** _(in counterpoint)_  
I will stay with you  
Till you are sleeping

**Eponine:** And rain...

**Marius:** And rain...

**Eponine:** Will make the flowers...

**Marius:** Will make the flowers... grow...

**I'm not really fond of that song, but it fits more than the others, and I needed a song for Erik to sing with Boston. )**

"Tell me about the rose, Erik." I said, hoping he was still there.

At first I thought my fears would be confirmed, but then he spoke. "Rose?"

"The rose you left backstage," I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, "remember?"

"Yes." He sounded very tired, but this wasn't new. "The rose was for you."

"Why?"

"Does that matter?"

I realized he was going to avoid that subject at all cost, so I abandoned it for another.

"What do you think of the new production?"

"Details I won't get into." He said. "As I'm very tired today and shan't talk long. But I like the story, although it's a very sad one."

"That's why it's 'Les Misérables'." I answered matter-of-factly. "Of course, they had to give me the part of the lonely one who loves someone who loves another."

I don't know if he caught that particular ironic statement. Normally he was quite sharp, I'm sure, but he was so tired so often lately this was hard to see.

When he had nothing else to say, I asked my usual question despite his tiredness. "Will you teach me today?"

To my surprise, he agreed. "Yes, a short lesson would do me good."

I frowned, because he seemed to be saying this to himself, not to me.

" 'A Little Fall of Rain'?" I asked, as this was one we could do together and one I needed practice with.

"Yes. 'Un peu de sang qui pleure'." He consented.

I paused, then decided that was his cue to begin. "_Ce n'est rien, monsieur Marius, je n'sens plus la douleur. Un peu de sang qui pleure quelques gouttes de pluie. C'est vous! C'est tout c'qui compte pour moi. Vous me protégerez, blottie sur votre coeur. La pluie fera pousser les fleurs."_

It took him a little longer than it normally would to gather himself, but he sang the notes anyway. "_Mais tu vas vivre, Ponine, regarde-moi… L'amour saura refermer ta blessure!"_

I felt a little guilt at the amount of pleasure I could take from his powerful, beautiful voice. I, and no other living person, had heard an angel sing, and I held that very close as one of my reasons to live.

"_Abritez-moi, réchauffez-moi… Je vais mieux dans vos bras." _I managed the lines barely, because his voice always rattled me so. I knew he'd give me a talking-to for the shakiness of it.

"_Tu vivras jusqu'à cent ans, si tu veux bien m'entendre… si tu me laisses t'apprendre." _I hardly realized the meaning of words, such was the beauty of the sound.

So, I was again slow on the uptake. "_…Dernières gouttes de pluie…Vous êtes le printemps qui revient, vous me protégerez… Très fort serrée, tout près… Dormir entre vos bras, enfin…_"_ Poor Eponine…_ I always thought. _'I'll sleep in your embrace at last' always got to me._ I continued, despite the lump growing in my throat. "_Que soit bénie la pluie qui vous ramène… Je me sens bien. Mais d'où vient cette lumière? Un souffle à peine qui nous sépare… Il n'était pas trop tard._"

Now we were to sing together. I had a hard time making myself do this: I never felt 'worthy'.

His part was: "_Dors en paix, chère Éponine…_"_ Hush-a-bye, dear Eponine_… "_Tu n'sens plus la douleur, un peu de sang qui pleure…Quelques gouttes de pluie…C'est moi._" _It's me. _"_J'attendrai là que tu t'endormes._" _I'll stay with you 'till you're sleeping._

My part, which I barely maintained, was this: "_Non, ce n'est rien, monsieur Marius …_" _No, it's nothing, Marius… _"_Je n'sens plus la douleur, un peu de sang qui pleure…Quelques gouttes de pluie…c'est tout c'qui compte pour moi._" _That's all I need to know. _"_Vous me protégerez, blottie sur votre coeu…"_

The duet ended, "_La pluie_…" _And rain_… I sang.

"_La pluie_…" _And rain_… he echoed. Although 'echoed' doesn't seem proper for him… _he can't echo, he's too perfect._

"_Fera pousser_…" _Will make the flowers_…

"_Fera pousser… les fleurs_…" _Will make the flowers grow_…

After recovering from his performance, I steeled myself for his criticism. It was always there; he didn't usually compliment. If he did, it was because he wasn't the man he used to be. His words were usually professional and sometimes harsh, except on days when his illness was worse than usual.

(I knew little of this illness: I assumed it was the price a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old man must pay for living.)

He worried me when his only comment was, "It's better. You'll be ready in a week."

As I returned to the land of living, as I called it, I thought of little but his voice and the fact that the words he sang were words of love.


	10. Scene 1: Hannibal

**(A/N This probably isn't a perfect replica of scene one of Phantom, but I try. And, it's not in French this time. Sorry. :) )**

"Boston!" Rio whistled. "We're going to be late."

Boston looked in the mirror and sighed. _Premiere night. So exciting_. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to be excited. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened since the rose, but Boston couldn't go anywhere without feeling watched. What frightened her more than this was that she couldn't manage to be worried about that. She didn't even feel threatened.

"Coming!" She called, after pinning one final strand of hair into its place for her Hannibal costume.

She groaned when she saw her smaller friend standing with her hands on her hips in the hall. "I hate you!"

"I haven't we been through this?" Rio turned and stormed through the pre-show crowd.

"Yes. But I hate it when you're so much more easily pretty."

"You're fine."

"But that doesn't matter, because no one's going to be looking at me." Boston took a new approach with her self-pity. "You're the star, remember?"

"Oh, shut up." Rio hissed under her breath. "You're the one with the stalker."

Rio looked immediately apologetic, while Boston held her tongue was some difficulty. If they spoke aloud so near the stage Brianne would skin them alive.

Meanwhile, the prologue was being performed. "…665, ladies and gentlemen: a papier-mâché musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order."

Boston sank into her depression at the "Showing here" and little tune that followed. It didn't matter to her that it was a full house: stage fright was an almost alien concept to her by that point in her life.

"May I start at twenty francs? Fifteen, then? Fifteen I am bid." A pause, then, "Sold, for thirty francs to the Vicomte de Changy. Thank you, sir."

_Ah, the Vicomte de Changy_. Boston thought with a sigh. _Good times_.

Eric's voice, formidable though it was, roused nothing in either actress. "A collector's piece indeed… every detail exactly as she said… She often spoke of you, my friend… Your velvet lining, and your figurine of lead… Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?"

The auctioneer had continued: no one had heard Raoul's little soliloquy. "Lot 666, then: a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera: a mystery never fully explained. We are told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster. Our workshops have repaired it and wired parts of it for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of how it may look when reassembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination, gentlemen?"

The chandelier was raised, and the overture began in all its loud, heart-stopping splendor.

Rio looked up to meet Boston's eyes. She grinned, and Boston couldn't resist her friend's sheepishness. They hugged, but were torn about moments later by none other than the absurdly dressed Jess.

She winked and strode out on stage. The curtain raised, and her high, trilling voice started the scene. "_This trophy from our saviors, from our saviors, from the enslaving force of Rome_!"

Rio chuckled and her companion gave her a questioning look. She mouthed 'Hannibal' and rolled her eyes. Boston suppressed another giggle.

"_Sad to return to find the land we love threatened once more by Roma's far-reaching grasp…_" Gustav threw himself into his performance comically.

"Signor, if you please…" Their Reyer sighed almost audibly. "If you please… 'Rome'. We say 'Rome', not 'Roma'."

"Si, si, Rome, not Roma." Gustav almost put Boston and Rio into stitches. "Is very hard for me."

Their Lefevre passed by Rio and Boston, saying, "This way, gentlemen, this way. Rehearsals, as you see, are under way, for a new production of Chalumeau's "Hannibal". Ladies and gentlemen, some of you may already, perhaps, have met M. Andre and M. Firmin ..."

Reyer promptly argued with the man. "I'm sorry, M. Lefevre, we are rehearsing. If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment?"

"My apologies, Reyer. Proceed, proceed."

"Thank you, monsieur. "Sad to return", Signor…"

"M. Reyer, out chief repetituer. Rather a tyrant, I'm afraid." He was very good at being unbearably pompous. "_Sad to return to find the land we love, threatened once more by Rome's far-reaching grasp. Tomorrow, we shall break the chains of Rome. Tonight, rejoice - your army has come home."_

"Signore Piangi, our principal tenor… He does play so opposite of La Carlotta."

This was the cue for the first dancers to come out. Rio and Boston followed Dori out and began their ballet.

"Gentlemen, please!" Brianne, queen of the stage, appeared at the corner of Boston's eye. "If you would kindly move to one side?"

"My apologies, Mme. Giry." Lefevre stepped aside and continued to Marlon and Fremon. "Mme. Giry, out ballet mistress. I don't mind confessing, M. Firmin, I shan't be sorry to be rid of the whole blessed business."

Fremon answered him. "I keep asking you, monsieur, why exactly are you retiring?"

Lefevre ignored him. "We take a particular pride in the excellence of out ballets."

"Who's that girl, Lefevre?" Marlon pointed to Boston, who pretended not to notice.

"Her? Meg Giry, Madame Giry's daughter. Promising dancer, M. Andre, most promising."

_As well as being pompous, he's good at being rather suggestive, isn't he? _Boston thought

Rio slipped up purposefully, but subtly enough that Boston doubted the audience noticed at first.

"You! Christine Daaé, concentrate, girl!" Brianne snapped. She was very good at snapping.

"Christine…" Boston said in her stage whisper, "What's the matter?"

"Daaé." Fremon frowned. "Curious name."

"Swedish." Lefevre commented.

"Any relation to the violinist?" Marlon asked.

"His daughter, I believe. Always has her head in the clouds, I'm afraid."

_True_, Boston thought ruefully.

The chorus struck up the tune. "_Bid welcome to Hannibal's guests -the elephants of Carthage! As guides on our conquering quests, Dido sends Hannibal's friends!"_

Jess reappeared near Gustav. "_Once more to my welcoming arms my love returns in splendor_!"

"_Once more to those sweetest of my charms my heart and soul surrender_!" Gustav replied.

"_The trumpeting elephants sound -- hear, Romans, now and tremble! Hark to their step on the ground -- hear the drums! Hannibal drums_!" The chorus ignored the slight love affair before them and continued.

Lefevre cheerfully cut in at the end of the phrase. "Ladies and gentlemen - Madame Giry, thank you - may I have your attention, please? As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true and it is my pleasure to introduce to you the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire, M. Richard Firmin and M. Gilles Andre." Marlon and Fremon bowed to their audience. "Gentlemen, Signora Carlotta Giudicelli, our leading soprano for five seasons now."

Jess came forward, hand outstretched. "Of course, of course," Marlon bowed over it. "I have experience all your greatest roles, Signora."

Lefevre continued. "And Signor Ubaldo Piangi."

"An honor, Signor." Fremon turned his attention to Gustav, whose fake beard jiggled comically. If I remember rightly, Elissa has a rather fine aria in Act Three of "Hannibal". I wonder, Signora, if, as a personal favor, you would oblige us with a private rendition? Unless, of course, M. Reyer objects . . ."

He turned to Reyer, who turned to Jess. "My manager commands… M. Reyer?" She raised her eyebrows haughtily.

Reyer sighed. "My diva commands. Will two bars be sufficient introduction?"

"Two bars will be quite sufficient." Fremon answered for the group.

"Signora?" Reyer raised his hand.

Jess cleared her throat and took center stage. "Maestro."

"_Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye ... Remember me, every so often, please promise me you'll try ... On that day, that not so distant day, when you are far away and free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me ... Think of me, think of me_..." She began, almost visibly bracing herself for the set to come.

It came, falling just behind Jess and folding over her. She screamed and fell convincingly.

Boston took up the song with the chorus. "_The Phantom of the Opera! He's with us, he's a ghost… He's here! The Phantom of the Opera_!"

Lefevre promptly grew livid as Jess was helped, spluttering, to her feet. "Signora! Are you all right? Buquet! Where is Buquet? Get that man down here! Chief of the flies. He's responsible for this. Buquet! For God's sake, man, what's going on up there?"

Percy's head appeared at the balcony. "_Please monsieur don't look at me: as God's my witness, I was not at my post. Please monsieur, there's no one there: and if there is, well then, it must be a ghost…_" He grinned wickedly and raised the set.

Boston took a breath, "_He's there; the Phantom of the Opera_!"

_God, I hope he's not_.

"_Good heavens! Will you show a little courtesy_?" Marlon snapped at Boston.

"Mademoiselle, please…" Fremon groaned.

"These things do happen!" Marlon smiled convincingly at Jess.

"Si! These things do happen!" Jess worked herself into a rage. "Well, until you stop these things from happening, this thing does _not_ happen!" She turned on her heel and shrieked, "Ubaldo! Andiamo!"

"Amateurs!" Gustav scoffed, following her.

Lefevre shook himself. "I don't think there's much more to assist you, gentlemen. Good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Frankfurt."

Marlon fumbled with his pockets nervously. "La Carlotta will be back."

Brianne chuckled. "You think so, messieurs? I have a message, sir, from the Opera Ghost." She held out a note, sealed with a red skull.

Fremon threw up his hands. "God in heaven, you're all obsessed!"

"He merely welcomes you to his opera house." Brianne shrugged. "And commands you to continue to leaves box five empty for his use…" She pointed towards the Opera Populaire's infamous box five. Several members of the audience turned to look. "And reminds you that his salary is due…"

"His salary?" Fremon chuckled to himself, although he seemed to be the only one to understand the joke.

"M. Lefevre paid his twenty thousand francs a month." Brianne smiled. Boston was almost shocked to see her actually smile. "Perhaps you can afford more, with the Vicomte de Changy as your patron."

Rio started with recognition, but said nothing.

Marlon sighed as the crowd began to whisper among itself. "Madame, I had hoped to make that announcement myself."

Brianne continued, not seeming to care. "Will the Vicomte be at the performance tonight, monsieur?"

"Yes," Fremon answered for him, "in our box."

Marlon looked concerned for the problem at hand. "Madame, who is the understudy for this role?"

"There is no understudy, monsieur – the production is new."

Boston piped up behind her alleged mother. "Christine Daaé could sing it, sir."

Fremon snorted. "The chorus girl?"

"She's been taking lessons from a great teacher." Boston told him.

Marlon turned to Rio. "From whom?"

"I don't know, sir…" She looked her ballet-slippered feet.

"Oh, not you as well! Can you believe it?" Fremon looked ready to bang his head against the wall. "A full house – we shall have to cancel!"

"Let her sing for you monsieur," Brianne cut in, "She has been well taught."

After a few nods of reluctant approval, Rio took center stage.

"From the beginning of the aria, then, mam'selle." Reyer sighed and raised his hand again.

As Rio took her breath, Boston looked into the crowd, all of which were staring vapidly at the stage. _This is going to be a good production_… she thought. _Actual 'Opera Ghost' present or not_.

Box five was empty for that performance, and for every one after that. Whether by superstition, tradition, or because Mercedes wanted it that way, no one knew, but Boston had her beliefs.


	11. Scene 2: Music of the Night

**(A/N Sorry this took so long! Finals and all that jazz held me up. But I'll update more often now that it's summer. Finally.)**

Boston peered around the curtain for a second to see the stage.

The show had been running for almost a week now, and had been sold out almost every time. If there had been any doubts about the success of the show, they had been quelled by that point.

No strange occurrences had interrupted any rehearsal or performance since the rose, and Boston's fears were beginning to rest.

"Remember that too…?" Rio was saying, or singing, or chanting, or whatever it could be called. Raoul was visiting Christine in her dressing room.

"_Little Lotte thought: am I fonder of dolls_," Eric sang as softly as one could sing into a microphone.

"_Or of goblins or shoes_," Rio's voice joined in. Both voices were lovely. "_Or of riddles or frocks_…" Rio continued on her own.

"Those picnics in the attic?" Eric moved closer to her, smiling. "_Or of chocolates_…"

Rio smiled back. "Father playing the violin…"

"As we read to each other dark stories of the North…"

"I didn't know Eric could read…" Jess whispered under her breath by Boston's shoulder. Boston stifled her giggle while the two were silenced by Brianne's angry glare.

"No, what I love best, Lotte said, is when I'm asleep in my bed…" Rio adopted Christine's fanatical 'Phantom-obsession' gaze. "_and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head_…"

"_The Angel of Music sings songs in my head_…" Eric joined her.

_He should be so lucky. _Boston thought.

"Father said, "When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you".  
Well, father is dead, Raoul, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music." Rio said, still looking a little crazy.

"There's no doubt of that," Eric had no problem being the ignorant Raoul then, "But now, we'll go to supper!"

"No, Raoul, the Angel of Music is very strict…"

"I shan't keep you up late!"

"No, Raoul," Rio didn't have any trouble with her acted either; she was always annoyed by Eric off the stage.

"You must change. I must get my hat." Eric got up and made his way towards the opposite side of the stage. "Two minutes, Little Lotte."

"Raoul!" Rio called as he disappeared. "Things have changed, Raoul."

Aaron's formidable voice started up behind the curtain, causing Boston to jump.

"_Insolent boy! This slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Ignorant fool! This brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph_!" Boston always found herself a little surprised by Aaron's ease at feigning temper. He was usually an easy-going man.

Rio stood and pleaded with her teacher. "_Angel! I hear you, speak – I listen! Stay by my side, guide me_! _Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, Master!_"

Aaron's tone changed. _Even_ _the Phantom is subject to Rio's puppy-dog eyes_. Boston chuckled. "_Flattering child, you shall know me – see why in shadow I hide! Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside_!"

Rio advanced on the mirror, looking utterly enchanted. "_Angel of Music! Guide and guardian! Grant me to your glory! Angel of Music! Hide no longer! Come to me, strange angel…_"

She reached out and took the outstretched hand, and the stage went black as the 'creepy organ rock music' started.

"_In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came... that voice which calls to me and speaks my name_..." The couple reappeared, coming towards the Phantom's gondola. _"And do I dream again? For now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there - inside my mind..._"

Eric took up the tune, sending more shivers down Boston's spine. _"Sing once again with me our strange duet... My power over you grows stronger yet..." _Every time she heard this song she got the eerie feeling another voice was singing – a voice more powerful and beautiful than she could imagine. "_And though you turn from me, to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there - inside your mind.._."

Jess didn't seem to share Boston's sixth sense: she looked a little bored as Rio took her part of the verse. "_Those who have seen your face draw back in fear... I am the mask you wear.._."

"_It's me they hear_..." Boston took a couple of steps away from the stage – she wasn't hearing Aaron.

"_My spirit and your voice in one combined: the Phantom of the Opera is there -  
inside your mind._.." Said the voice that wasn't Aaron's.

"_He's there, the Phantom of the Opera... Beware, the Phantom of the Opera._.." Boston sang the chorus numbly along with the other misc. characters that now played the company.

"_In all your fantasies, you always knew that man and mystery_..."

"... _were both in you _..."

"_And in this labyrinth, where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind_ ..."

"_Sing, my Angel of Music_!" Boston herself almost sang, such was the feeling she got that the voice was speaking to her.

"_He's there, the Phantom of the Opera_ ..." Rio sang for Boston.

"_Sing for me ... sing_." Rio obeyed in a high-pitched but controlled manner. "_Sing my Angel ... sing. Sing for me_."

Their journey-by-gondola over, Aaron, swishing his cloak dramatically, stepped into the Phantom's stage-lair. "_I have brought you to the seat of sweet music's throne_..."

I _wonder if the seat of sweet music's throne is still beneath the opera house_…

"_To this kingdom where all must pay homage to music... Music_... _You have come here for one purpose and one alone..._" Boston found herself almost involuntarily backing away from the stage. "_Since the moment I first heard you sing, I have needed you with me to serve me, to sing for my music... my music_..."

Aaron's voice could still be heard as she moved further and further backstage, wanting to be away from the crowd.

"_Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation_…" Boston locked herself in Christine's dressing room (which was now Rio's), and tried to ignore the voice that was a little louder than it should've been. "_Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination, silently the senses abandon their defenses_…"

Boston relaxed in Rio's chair, burying her faces in her hands and covering her ears with her fingers.

"_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor… Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_…" Boston pressed her fingers against her ears, but couldn't block out the glorious sound. "_Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light_."

"_And listen to the music of the night_…" Boston trembled for a moment, then obeyed, removing her fingers. Just as she looked up at the shadow in the mirror, the door slammed open.

"What's the matter with you?" Brianne hissed. "You're on in two minutes!"

"But I haven't been here that long…" She started, but was talking to no one. Brianne was gone, the mirror was empty, and the music of the night had left in mind.


	12. Scene 3: All I Ask Of You

**(A/N - Sorry. I lied. This took a lot longer than it was supposed to. Which is surprising, because it's mostly just lyrics now, as it will be until I've done most of the major scenes in Phantom. Ah well. I hope it lives up to whatever expectation there may be for it.)**

"_There is no Phantom of the Opera_!" Eric sang fervently. Boston had no doubt he believed this, but she herself was doubtful of her own beliefs.

"_Raoul, I've been there…_" Rio murmured, as much as one could murmur into a microphone. "_To his world of unending night… to a world where the daylight dissolves into darkness… darkness…_"

Neither Rio nor Boston had ever taken a road beneath the opera house, and the chapel had not seemed _dark_. It had seemed dim, and dusty, and lonely, but never _dark_.

"_Raoul, I've seen him, can I ever forget that sight…? Can I ever escape from that face? So distorted, deformed, it was hardly a face… in that darkness… darkness_…"

Boston shivered. She had her own vision of that face, but did not find _it_ frightening. She found what was behind it frightening; in that tortured mind.

"_But his voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound… In that night, there was music in my mind… And through music, my soul began to soar… And I hear as I've never heard before_!"

"_What you heard was a dream, and nothing more_." Eric insisted. Boston had almost convinced herself that what she'd heard, _the music of the night_, the week before, had only been a dream as Raoul believed.

"_Yet in his eyes_…"

_All the sadness in the world_. Boston finished the phrase in her thoughts. She could believe that line – the face behind the mask had looked infinitely miserable.

"_Those pleading eyes that both threatened and adored_…" Rio finished, looking up at Eric. Boston knew her friend had plenty of trouble looking at Eric so close to her without revulsion.

"_Christine… Christine_…" Eric murmured, touching her face.

"_Christine_…" Aaron's voice echoed from the shadows.

"What was that?" Rio whirled around, looking in vain.

"_No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears… I'm here, nothing can harm you – my words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry your tears… I'm here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you_…"

Boston had never liked Eric, or the character of Raoul, but this song was sweet and touched her somewhere were she feared all the strange goings-on in the opera house. Even as she enjoyed the comforting words, however, she felt as if she was betraying some unknown person.

"_Say you love me every waking moment, turn my head with talk of summertime… Say you need me with you now and always… promise that all you say is true – that's all I ask of you_." Rio replied.

"_Let me be your shelter, let me be your light… You're safe – no one will find you, your fears are far behind you_…"

From her place behind the curtain, Boston could only see Eric's face – he was engrossed in the performance. Jess, hovering at her shoulder, whispered, "I think he's a little too into this, don't you?" Boston giggled despite herself.

"_All I want is freedom, a world with no more night… and you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me_…" Rio turned from Eric and gave her friends a subtle wink before walking a few steps from her character's lover.

"_Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime… let me lead you from your solitude… Say you need me here, beside you – anywhere you go, let me go too – Christine, that's all I ask of you_." Turning back to him, Rio returned to Christine's vapid, loving attitude.

"_Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…say the word and I will follow you_…"

Aaron became visible in the corner of the stage, supposedly behind a statue. Beneath his white half-mask, he looked terribly sad.

The two at center stage sang together: "_Share each day with me, each night, each morning_…"

"_Say you love me_." Rio demanded.

"Peer pressure." Jess muttered, shaking her head. Boston stifled another giggle.

"_You know I do_…"

They drew closer, and the phantom in the corner blanched visibly. "_Love me – that's all I ask of you… Anywhere you go let me go too… Love me – that's all I ask of you_…"

They kissed, and Jess make several small gagging noises.

Rio drew away a little sooner than Christine probably would have. "_I must go! They'll wonder where I am… Wait for me, Raoul_!"

Eric, looking drugged, followed her across the stage. "_Christine, I love you_…"

"_Order your fine horses; be with them at the door_!"

"_And soon, you'll be beside me_…"

"_You'll guard me and you'll guide me_…"

They disappeared. Aaron walked slowly onto the stage and knelt, picking up the rose Rio had dropped. "_I gave you my music… Made your song take wing_…"

Aaron made the audience feel the phantom's pain every time. Often, real tears came down his cheeks.

"_And now, how you've repaid me… denied me and betrayed me… He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing… Christine… Christine_…"

Rio's and Eric's voices came from offstage. "_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime… say the word and I will follow you… Share each day with me, each night, each morning_…"

Aaron crushed the rose in his hand, his pain turning to anger, and stood, running over to stand on one of the 'statues'. "_You will curse the day you did not do… all that the Phantom asked of you_! _Go_!" he wailed aloud, causing both Jess and Boston to flinch.

Jess flinched because his voice was loud and angry and emotional; Boston flinched because she heard someone, far off, sobbing like a child.


	13. Scene 4: Wishing You Were Somehow Here

**(A/N: Hey, I'm on a roll here. Or maybe, I'm just bored now. Anyway, this is just a filler before the Point of No Return... cackle. Talks about Boston's past and family and sets the scene for the whole 'climax' part of the production. No, we're not near the end of the story yet, just the end of the play.)**

Once again, Boston stood backstage listening to her friend sing a solo.

"_You_ _were once a friend and father ... then my world was shattered_ ..." _Poor Christine…_ Boston thought wryly. _She just can't see that she'd got something better than a father waiting for her_. She still managed to see the Phantom in the story as the one Christine should have chosen, despite her own phantoms.

"_Wishing you were somehow here again ... wishing you were somehow near ... Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here ..."_ She couldn't see Rio, but she knew that she was standing center stage in the graveyard set.

"_Wishing I could hear your voice again ...knowing that I never would ... Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could_ ... _Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem, for you, the wrong companions - you were warm and gentle_ ..." Boston sighed. Her own father simply didn't care, and as long as she became a doctor or something, he would put her in his will. But, unfortunately, she had turned herself to acting and singing, causing her father to disown her and her mother to weep and wail for a few days, then forget.

"_Too many years fighting back tears ... Why can't the past just die _... ?" Rio was the one who'd helped Boston fight back her tears – she'd given her loyalty, constant presence (which sometimes was less than a good thing), and a lot of humor to take her mind off her family problems.

"_Wishing you were somehow here again ... knowing we must say goodbye_ ..." Rio's family loved her and supported her, so she couldn't really sympathize with Boston's situation. But Boston had told herself she'd moved on, and that she'd pursue her own desires whether her family wanted her to or not.

"_Try to forgive ... teach me to live ... give me the strength to try ... No more memories, no more silent tears ... No more gazing across the wasted years _..."

Boston grinned when Jess and Dori joined her, both dressed in their Don Juan Triumphant costumes. They were her family now, despite their oddities.

Rio finished her song with heart-rending bravado. "_Help me say goodbye. Help me say goodbye_!"

Aaron's voice cut in on her musings. "_Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance…_"

Jess giggled to herself, earning questioning looks from her companions. "His voice turns me on." She said, by way of explanation. Dori mimed puking, and Boston nearly joined her in this before considering that fact that she shared mutual feelings.

"_Angel or father… friend or phantom? Who is it there, staring_…?" _She's so confused_, Boston thought.

"_Have you forgotten your Angel_?" Aaron inquired sadly.

"_Angel, oh speak_…" Rio's voice echoed Jess's earlier sentiment. "_What endless longings echo in this whisper_…!"

Aaron's tone turned fatherly. "_Too long you've wandered in winter, far from my far-reaching gaze_…"

Jess frowned. "Far from my far-reaching gaze? That's confusing."

"_You resist_…" Aaron was saying when the stifled laughter subsided.

Rio joined him, singing, "_Yet the soul obeys_!"

"_Angel of Music! You denied me, turning from true beauty … Angel of Music! Do not shun me ... Come to your strange Angel_!" Boston sighed. Beautiful though the prospect was, she couldn't pull herself away from the idea that she was simply insane.

"_Angel of Music! I denied you, turning from true beauty… Angel of Music! My protector… come to me, strange Angel!" _Rio echoed his words.

Another voice came over Aaron's in Boston's mind. "_I am your Angel of Music… Come to me: Angel of Music_…" Jess and Dori didn't seem to hear the voice that made their friend tremble and gasp aloud.

Eric's presence broke the trance. "_Leave her! You have no claim on her… leave her! Your words are wasted – can't you see she'll never be yours? _Christine! Christine!" Boston could see Rio turning from her father's tomb in her mind's eye.

"Raoul!" she cried.

"Bravo, monsieur, such spirited words!" Aaron sounded cocky, very sure of himself.

"More tricks, monsieur?" Eric asked warily.

"Let's see, monsieur, how far you dare go…" the Phantom taunted.

"More deception, more violence?"

"That's right, that's right, keep walking this way!"

"You can't win her love by making her your prisoner."

"I'm here, I'm here, monsieur, the Angel of Death!" _Angel of Death_ wouldn't register in Boston's mind. _Angel of Death? No, never that_. "Come on, come on, don't stop, don't stop!"

"Raoul!" Rio's voice saved Raoul. On stage, he turned and went to her. They went backstage, and as Aaron's voice said "Don't go!" Rio passed by on her way to the dressing room, giving her friends a breathless smile.

"So be it! _Let it be war upon you both_!"

Boston followed Rio while the short pre-Don-Juan-performance scene took place on stage.

"That was wonderful, as always." Boston assured her. She shrugged and began to change in a rapid, practiced manner.

"I screwed the 'Angel of Music' lines, but that's okay. Aaron covered up for me."

"Does he ever mess up?" Boston asked in all seriousness.

Rio laughed. "Not that I've heard."

Boston flopped down in one of the chairs. "Rio, I hearing voices."

"By that you mean mind, Aaron's, and Eric's, right? Help."

Boston stood and took down Rio's hair, helping her re-do it. "No, I'm hearing voices. Voice. A voice."

"Just randomly?"

"No." They turned to leave the dressing room. "I hear it instead of Aaron's lines sometimes. Like during 'Music of the Night' last week. And today during 'am am your Angel of Music, come to me: Angel of Music'."

"It's just your imagination." She opened the door and headed down the hall. "Unless, of course, it's the Phantom's ghost." She winked and took her place by curtain.

Boston wanted to scream at her, but her microphone turned on. She sighed and went on stage just as the curtain rose.

"_Here the sire may serve the dam, here the master takes the meat_!" She sang with the chorus, dancing along with the others. "_Here the sacrificial lamb utters one despairing bleat_!"

Jess took the lead over the chorus. "_Poor young maiden! For the thrill on your tongue of stolen sweets you will have to pay the bill - tangled in the winding sheets! Serve the meal and serve the maid! Serve the master so that, when tables, plans and maids are laid, Don Juan triumphs once again_!"

The Phantom's, or at least, Andrew Lloyd Webber's interpretation of it, music was strange and hypnotic as Gustav, as Piangi playing Don Juan, began the vocals. "_Passarino, faithful friend, once again recite the plan_…"

Passarino smiled twistedly near where Boston stood. "_Your young guest believes I'm you – I, the master, you the man_."

"_When you met you wore my cloak, with my scarf you hid your face. She believes she dines with me, in her master's borrowed place! Furtively, we'll scoff and quaff, stealing what, in truth, is mine. When it's late and modesty starts to mellow, with the wine_ . . ." Boston smiled inwardly; Rio herself wouldn't have minded being caught up in such a plan.

Passarino continued. "_You come home! I use your voice – slam the door like the crack of doom_!"

"_I shall say – 'come, hide with me! Where, oh where? Of course! My room_!'" Gustav cracked a convincing evil smile.

"_Poor thing hasn't got a chance_!" Passarino agreed with his master.

"_Here's my hat, my cloak, and sword. Conquest is assured, if I do not forget myself and laugh_…" They disappeared behind the curtain at the back of the stage, where Aaron 'punjabbed' Gustav. Boston and the chorus were offstage by then, watching from behind the curtain.

Rio, as Christine playing Aminta, appeared across the stage, sang, " '_No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy… No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love_!"

Passarino, in the corner, murmured, "_Master_?"

It was Aaron, not Gustav, that appeared, cloaked and mysterious. "Passarino – _go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey…"_

The last line repeated itself in Boston's mind. _Go away for the trap is set and waits for its prey_…


	14. Scene 5: The Point of No Return

**(A/N Sorry this took so long. I had camp, then I couldn't focus... anway, I'm going on vacation, so it could be another two weeks before 'Down Once More', or in Boston's case, Down For the First Time. Oops, I said too much! gasp Oh well, enjoy. Boston's going a little crazier, but somehow I don't think she minds too much. It's the point of no return, and pretty much all that implies.)**

Boston shook herself a little, trying to prepare herself for the next scene. This one always seemed to do something to her. Maybe it was the wonderful smell of 'irony in the morning' that hung over it. But then, this wasn't usually an amused feeling, so she assumed what got to her was the dark seductiveness that was its main theme. Seduction was a foreign thing to her – she wasn't used to love.

Her friend, Rio, looked around as Aaron, playing the Phantom playing Don Juan, appearing and opened his mouth to sing. "_You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish, which till now, has been silent, silent ..._"

_Actually_, Boston thought, as though the voice was speaking to her, _I'm here because this is my job and I can't pay the rent unless I come. And I have no such wish. I want these weird mind problems, hallucinations, to leave me alone and let me get on with my life._

"_I_ _have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge- in your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me –" _

_No, I haven't. She has. I haven't._ Boston sighed and shifted a little. Brianne, standing to one side at Madame Giry, gave her an odd look.

"_Now you are here with me: no second thoughts, you've decided, decided_ ..."

Aaron put a finger to his lips as Rio shuddered. Boston glanced up at Eric in his box, who was staring open-mouthed at the pair.

"_Past the point of no return - no backward glances: the games we've played till now are at an end ... Past all thought of 'if' and 'when' - no use resisting: abandon thought, and let the dream descend ... What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us ... ?_" _Wow, singing of unsubtle metaphors, aren't we?_ Boston desperately ignored the fact that, every now and then, it wasn't Aaron's voice she heard.

"_Past the point of no return, the final threshold - what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return_ ..."

Now, it was Rio's turn. Boston relaxed. This would give her a break from the insanity that kept intruding on her once-normal brain.

Now, one would have thought that Christine would be a little smarter than to just go running back into the Phantom's arms. _Well, one doesn't know Christine well, does one?_ Boston thought wryly as Rio began her part.

"_You have brought me to that moment when words run dry, to that moment where speech disappears into silence, silence_ ..."

"Why are they talking, then?" Jess murmured, earning a hiss from Brianne.

"_I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why ... In my mind, I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent - and now I am here with you: no second thoughts, I've decided, decided_ ..."

_Hasn't everyone imagined their body entwining with the Phantom's_? Boston then checked herself. _Well, I haven't. At least, not since the probability of his existence became an actual ratio._

"_Past the point of no return - no going back now: our passion-play has now, at last, begun _..." Boston had always wondered if Christine was telling the truth when she sang this. Was Christine being the bait for the trap, or was she really in love with the Phantom?

"_Past all thought of right and wrong - one final question: how long should we two wait, before we're one ... ? When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames, at last, consume us_ ... ?" Rio and Aaron drew close and grasped each others' arms, now totally wrapped in there performance and each other.

Boston drew a shallow breath as the Phantom's voice joined Rio's.

"_Past the point of no return, the final threshold… the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn_!" She would have run away from his voice, the hauntingly beautiful thing that scared her so much, but her presence was required in the next scene. Her experience as an actress prompted her stay standing between Brianne and Jess.

"_We've passed the point of no return_…" They finished the phrase and stood staring at each other while the music played out the final notes of the song.

Boston was trembling, telling herself, _there_ is _no point of no return. We can always go back, if we want to_… But she knew that, for the Phantom and Christine, that was the point of no return. _But there isn't one for me._ She told herself firmly. _This is Aaron's voice I hear. Aaron's._

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_…" Boston grabbed Jess's arm and swayed, earning herself concerned looks from Brianne, the dancers, and her prop.

"_Lead me, save me from my solitude… Say you want me with you, here, beside you_…" This was the Phantom's plea, his last cry for help. Boston found that, even though some part of her screamed 'you're crazy', she could hardly resist the sad, despairing voice.

"_Anywhere you go, let me go too… Christine, that's all I ask of you_!"

Boston felt a rush of anger as Rio ripped the mask off of Aaron's face, revealing his makeup.

After a moment, Aaron and Rio disappeared and Jess found Gustav's 'body'. "What is it? What has happened?" She shrieked. Boston, still feeling faint, groped for something else to put her weight on. "Ubaldo!"

Somewhere, Marlon yelled, "Oh my God, my god!"

Fremon shouted at Marlon, "We're ruined, Andre, ruined!"

Brianne also left Boston's side, calling, "Monsieur Vicomte! Come with me! Monsieur le Vicomte!" Eric came to her. "I know where they are!"

"But can I trust you?" Eric asked, his voice only just audible about Jess's moaning and wailing and the others' screams.

"You must." Brianne replied. "But, remember – keep your hand at the level of your eyes!"

"But why…?"

"Why? The Punjab lasso, monsieur. First Buquet, now Piangi." She pointed to Gustav.

"I'll come with you!" Boston started forward, only just remembering her line.

"No, Meg! No, you stay here…" Brianne pushed her away gently. "Come with me, monsieur." They turned to go offstage as the lights dimmed. "Hurry, or we shall be too late…"

_Too late. 'Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…' No, I can't. You're dead. Leroux said they even found your body… 'Lead me, save me from my solitude…' How? I'm too alone myself. Rio doesn't know me, Jess doesn't know me, Dori doesn't know me, my own family doesn't know me. 'Say you want me with you, here beside you…' How can I admit that? I'm insane. I'm crazy. I hear voices. 'Anywhere you go, let me go too…' How? Dead bodies can't walk. 'That's all I ask of you.' _

_That's asking too much. I can't do that for you. I simply can't. Even if I try, I couldn't. I wouldn't know how to begin trying. Would I?_


	15. Scene 6: Down Once More

(**A/N Okay. Sorry this took so long. Yes, I'm a bad, lazy person**. **But I finally got myself to finish it, and am a little pleased with how it ended up. It's not supposed to be clear what she decided, but I'll say what it was in the next chapter... anyway, this is becoming a bit of an epic, so I'll have to skip a few months after this. **

**This particular chapter is about five months after the premiere, so, yeah, that much time has passed. This is supposed to be mainly a psychological thing in Boston's mind.)**

"_Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair… Down we plunge to the prison of my mind! Down that path into darkness deep as hell_!"

Boston listened to Aaron's – or really, the Phantom's – ravings from her position backstage. She sat on a corner, making herself as unnoticeable as possible. This was the worst night of all: she had been hardly able to complete her part as Meg in the play. Now, as the final scene played out, she was curled up and crying, unable to gain control of herself.

"_Why, you ask, was I bound and chained to this cold and dismal place_?" Aaron snarled, while Boston could only hear her Phantom. "_Not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent face_!"

Boston tried to pull herself together, as she had to play Meg one more time before the night was done. But this was impossible, not with the chorus pounding in her ears.

"_Track down this murderer, he must be found… track down this murderer, he must be found_…"

She defended him in her mind, despite herself. _It's your own fault he had to kill. It's the world's fault._ She still considered herself mad, but at times like these she forgot this and acted as though this was all real – that the Phantom existed, and was perhaps still alive.

"_Hounded out by everyone, met with hatred everywhere! No kind words from anyone, no compassion anywhere_!" Boston could no longer hear Aaron's voice through her Phantom's. "_Christine, Christine, why_? Why…?"

Brianne's voice intruded on her enclosed, defended mind. "_Your hand at the level of your eyes_…"

Eric's voice followed it, "… _at the level of your eyes_…"

The angry mob, which did not exist in Boston's mind, sang its part. "_Your hand at the level of your eyes! Track down this murderer – he must be found_!" She pressed the heels of her hands into her ears, stood, and stumbled further into the opera house. "_Hunt out the animal, who runs to ground! Too long he's preyed on us – but now we know: The Phantom of the Opera is there… deep down below! He's here: the Phantom of the Opera_!"

The cruel voice of Rio succeeded their murderous chorus. "_Have you gorged yourself at last in your lust for blood? Am I now to prey to your lust for flesh_?"

Boston was now near the place where she and Rio had seen the footprints. She sank down again on the dusty floor. There was no sign of these prints now.

"_That fate, which condemns me to wallow in blood… has also denied me the joys of the flesh_…" The Phantom's voice could still be heard loud and clear. "_This face – the infection which poisoned our love… this face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing… a mask, my first unfeeling scrap of clothing_…"

Boston let out a choking sob as his voice became angry instead of pained. "_Pity comes too late – turn around and face your fate – and eternity of this before your eyes_!"

Too her horror and shock, Rio's voice could also still be heard loud and clear. "_This haunted face holds no horror for me now… it's in your soul that the true distortion lies_…"

"_Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest_! _Sir, this is truly and unparalleled delight_!" Boston automatically saw the scene playing out on stage in her mind. "_I had rather hoped that you would come… and now my wish comes true! You have truly made my night_!"

Eric's voice pled for Christine, but Boston had some trouble drumming up any sympathy for the pair. "_Free her! Do what you like, only free her_!"

"_Your lover makes a passionate plea_!"

"_Please, Raoul, it's useless_!"

"_I love her! Does that mean nothing? I love her! Show some compassion_…" Boston found herself remembering Jess's words – 'What is it with him and repeating things for emphasis? Emphasis?'

"_The world showed no compassion to me_!" the Phantom retorted. This caused Boston to stand and again retreat further away from the stage, convinced she could stop the voices if she got far enough away from them.

"_Christine… Christine… let me see her_…" Eric's voice persisted.

"_Be my guest, sir…Monsieur, I bid you welcome… did you think that I would harm her? Why would I make her pay for the sins which are yours?" _Boston closed her eyes against the images of Aaron pinning Eric and wrapping his lasso around his neck, but they persisted. " '_Order your fine horses now!' 'Raise up your hand to the level of your eyes!' Nothing can save you now, expect, perhaps, Christine_!"

She leaned against the wall near a staircase, feeling like she was about to fall over.

"_Start a new life with me – buy his freedom with your love! Refuse me and you send your lover to his death! This is the choice – this is the point of no return_!"

Rio's voice continued, impossibly. "_The tears I might have shed for your dark fate grow cold and turn to tears of hate_!"

"_Christine, forgive me, please forgive me_…" Eric begged. Boston never knew what Christine had to forgive Raoul for, but that wasn't the worst of the things that kept her up at night. "_I did it all for you and all for nothing_…"

The three sang together in a way that usually confused but impressed. Rio sang "_Farewell, my fallen idol and false friend… We had such hopes, but now those hopes lie murdered_," while the Phantom sang, "_Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity_…" and Eric sang, "_Say you love him, and my life is over!_"

Then, the Phantom and Eric sang together. "_Past all cries for help, no point in fighting_, _for either way you choose you cannot win!_" and Eric's, "_Either way you choose, he has to win_…"

The Phantom gave her his ultimatum again, "_So do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave_?"

"_Why make her lie to you to save me_?" Eric's voice sounded tight and slightly muffled.

"_Angel of Music_…" "_Past the point of no return_…" "_For pity's sake, Christine, say no_!" "…_why this torment_?" "… _the final threshold_…" "_Don't throw your life away for my sake_!" "_Why do you curse mercy_?" "_His life is now the prize which you must earn!_" "_I fought so hard to free you_!" "_Angel of Music_…" "_You've passed the point of no return_…" "…_you deceived me… I gave my mind blindly_."

Boston pressed her hands against her ears again, noticed the stairs, and started up them.

"_You try my patience… make your choice_!" the Phantom snapped in her mind.

During the pause that followed, Boston tripped on the top stair and fell. Letting out a horrified sob, she crawled to a corner near a doorway and curled herself up against the end of the song.

"_Pitiful creature of darkness… what kind of life have you known? God, give me courage to show you, you are not alone_!" The music that swelled in her mind calmed her down, rather than driving her further towards the edge. And when the music became agitated, Boston didn't get worried again. Instead, she dropped her hands at her sides and stood up, listening intently.

"_Take her – forget me – forget all of this… Leave me alone – forget all you've seen… Go now – don't let them find you! Take the boat – swear to me never to tell the secret you know of the angel in hell_!"

_That's my favorite line_… Boston thought absentmindedly. _The angel in hell_… She went through the door, with an expression of curiosity on her face. _Where did that breakdown take me_? She wondered.

"_Go now – go now and leave me_!"

Boston sighed to herself, a little surprised. She was standing the chapel.

"_Masquerade… paper faces on parade… Masquerade… hide your face so the world will never find you_…"

She sat down on the ledge by the old, beautiful stained-glass window. She was teetering on the edge of doing one or the other thing – committing herself to an insane asylum or calling out the Phantom's name.

"_Christine, I love you_…"

There was a pause, then Rio sang the part the usually made Boston cry. However, she'd heard this part so many times it no longer moved her as it did. Now, she knew she wouldn't cry, after all, **_What is left when you cry all your tears away_?**

"_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_… _say the word and I will follow you…_"

"_Share each day with me… each night, each morning_…"

Now the end was coming, and normally Boston would be bawling by now. But this time, she just sat and stared at the window.

"_You alone can make my song take flight… it's over now, the music of the night_!"

It only just occurred to Boston that she was supposed to be onstage, finding the Phantom's mask. She stood up, then realized she'd never make it in time, and sat down again.

_So… I suppose it's time for me to give up?_

**(A/N- bolded from Susan Kay's Phantom)**


End file.
